The Morganian Father
by TracedScars
Summary: "There's something wrong with him," Becky said, frowning as she spoke. "It's the way he looks whenever his father's brought up." Veronica smiled at her. "It can't be anything that bad," she assured the younger girl. "No one can truly hate their father."
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This is my very first fanfiction. I really enjoyed The Sorcerer's Apprentice. I hope this is something all right for a prologue! The characters, except my OCs, belong to Jerry B. I don't own them, but if I did...heh heh heh.

* * *

PROLOGUE:

Becky checked her watch and frowned. This was the third time she had looked at it, and she was positive it wasn't broken. The time was displayed accurately in the little plastic circle. It was three o'clock. But where was Dave? It really wasn't like him to be this late. He never missed a thing. Especially dates. Becky wondered if she should call, but she didn't want to come off as pushy. She heard someone slide up next to her.

"Hey, Becky," Andre said. His tone bordered on a question, not a greeting.

"Hi," she said anyways. "Need some help?" The radio studio was just about to close up. She didn't think he needed anything.

"No," he answered. "I just want to know where your boyfriend is. It's getting late, and it's gonna rain soon."

Becky shrugged. "I don't know when he'll show up. Dave's never been late before. I guess there's a first time for everything, you know?"

"Sure, sure. If he doesn't come, do you want a ride home?" "Only if I don't see him," Becky said. "Thanks for the offer." She squinted her eyes and suddenly grinned. Andre leaned forward to look at what she was seeing.

"He's here?" he guessed.

"Yep," Becky answered enthusiastically. "I've got to go. See you later, Andre."

"Bye, Becks." He went back to his report papers.

Becky scooped up her things and hurried to the door to meet Dave. He appeared, a little soaking. He wore a sheepish expression on his face; he also looked slightly embarrassed. Becky smiled at him.

"Look who's late," she teased.

He grimaced. "I'm sorry. I lost track of time. I also have a paper due next Friday."

Becky patted his shoulder. "No worries. So, are we still up for coffee?"

"Yeah, sure," Dave replied. But he still wore a half-wary look. Becky didn't like it.

"Are you okay, Dave?"

"Yes," was his answer. He was a horrible liar. Becky knew that now, thanks to Balthazar Blake. She frowned at his single word.

"Are you sure?" Becky repeated. "It's just…you look sort of stressed."

"I'm fine," Dave assured her. "Don't worry about me. I want to get out before the rain starts, is all." He pulled the door open for her, and Becky accepted it. She still wondered what was wrong with her boyfriend, but what proof did she have? _Leave him alone, Becky,_ she reminded herself mentally. They strolled down the street towards the coffee shop. Becky could smell the swirls of cinnamon and mocha. She inhaled deeply. This was one of her favorite coffee parlors. The couple sat down, got some coffee, and talked about classes, the radio, ect… Becky noticed that the regular Dave soon came back. He smiled, he laughed, he spoke. Maybe that little look of his earlier was just something else. Becky leaned back surreptitiously in her chair. She wanted to speak about another topic, something she had been thinking about in her mind while she was at the studio. But now she couldn't remember. As she watched people walk across the street outside, she caught sight of a man and a woman holding hands with a little girl. Her blond ponytail swung back and forth. The man talked to the woman, who was possibly his wife, and she laughed.

"Dave," Becky said, smiling. He looked up from doodling invisibly on a napkin.

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking," she said, "why don't we go out somewhere special? Tomorrow, maybe just the two of us."

"Tomorrow?" Dave repeated, confused.

"It's Father's Day tomorrow," she said slowly, carefully setting in her sentences. "I…don't have any busy plans, and if you don't either, we could… I don't know, spend some time, somewhere private." She smiled at him tentatively.

He glanced back at his napkin. "What about your dad? No plans?"

"My dad's not around," Becky said softly. She picked up her cup of coffee, stared at the plastic lid, then set it back down on the table. "I know we don't talk much about family matters. But I honestly can't do anything special for Father's Day. My mom divorced my dad…and he got sick soon after."

"Oh, I'm-"

She stopped him. "Don't be sorry. He was a great dad and a nice guy. He had a long, plentiful life. He died when he was forty. I would have preferred for him to be alive, so we could enjoy Father's Day. But we can't do that." Her voice got thicker and sadder as she went on. She was sure Dave noticed.

"Becky, look," he said quickly. She looked up at him. "You don't have to talk about it if it makes you upset." "Do you have any plans with your father?" she asked. "If you do, you're some lucky guy, Dave." She laughed, reverting back into a casual form.

A sudden spasm rippled across his face, then ended within a blink of an eye. "Listen, Becky, I don't have any plans either. He's not around that much; let's just leave it at that." The last sentence ended harshly, in a sharp manner. Becky cringed as she heard these rash words. It wasn't like Dave to get angry like that. Bringing up his father was not a good idea, she decided.

"Um, so we're going to do something together tomorrow?" He smiled suddenly, a warm smile that lit up his entire face, replacing the bitter mask he had on briefly before. "I'd really like that. How about three thirty at…maybe the French restaurant Balthazar and Veronica went to last week?"

She smiled back, glad to see his happy face. "For sure. Now come on, we've got to go. Balthazar's going to wonder where we went." She crumpled up the coffee cup and napkins, and threw them out in the trash can.

As they exited the coffee shop, Dave suddenly pecked her on the cheek. She smiled, looking up at him. "What was that for?"

"Just wanted to say thanks for making me feel much better today."

"Well, you're welcome, then," she said, grinning slyly. But on the inside, some part of her knew that she had been right, and he had been feeling bad before. And it hurt also knowing that he had been hurting at all.

* * *

Dave went upstairs to his apartment floor. He groped his jacket pockets for his key. Dave took out the ruined piece of metal and slipped it inside the hole of the doorknob. He twisted the key and there was a clicking noise. The door ominously opened a little. He sighed, and stepped in the room. The lights were easier to find. He placed the key on top of a bunch of papers that sat on his coffee table.

"Bennet?" Dave asked uncertainly as he hung up his jacket. "Are you here?"

No answer. So he was alone. Dave went over to the phone in the living room and checked the voice mail.

"Hey, Dave, I'm going to Carol's for the weekend, so don't worry about me. Don't forget to check the mail! Thanks, bye." Dave went to his room and the first thing he did upon entering was throw himself on the bed. He sat there for a few moments. It felt so nice to just stay still. He wondered how Becky was doing, after his strange occurrence at the coffee shop. Dave sighed again. She would forgot about it, maybe. But it worried him that he had made her anxious. He would have to be more careful next time. The corners of Dave's mouth lifted, thinking about their date tomorrow. Just the two of them on a day that should be avoided all together.

As if on cue, the closet rattled dangerously. Dave tiredly looked at the door while it kept on shaking with its tremors. He would never get some sleep with those noises.

"You can't give me a break?" he asked the closet door.

In response, the trembling was reduced to a subtle rocking. The pattern fell into a rhythm that resembled a lullaby.

"Even when you're nice, you're mean," Dave said to the door, gripping a pillow.

The closet quivered shakily, as if laughing.

Dave stood up in a flash and angrily kicked the door. Then he collapsed on the bed once more when the shaking didn't stop. "You'll never stop, will you?" he whispered. Then he turned in bed and put the pillow over his face, hoping it would block the noise radiating from the closet.

He could still hear that soft lullaby sound.

* * *

**-A.T.**


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I'm sorry this is so short. Look out below, there's trouble.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE:

Becky shifted through all the appointments. She had been the one to make the reservations because she had thought that Dave would miss something. Becky's friends went to the restaurant once or twice before, gushing to her about the details. She had been secretly jealous, and couldn't wait till she had a boyfriend who would be able to take her there. Now Becky had her wish. She smiled at the thought. Becky held out her schedule and debated whether or not she had enough time to pick out a new outfit for the date. She wanted it to be special, since both of their fathers weren't around. She felt a small pang of sadness; then she remembered Dave's odd behavior at the coffee parlor yesterday.

"I wonder how I can make a conversation without mentioning dads," Becky murmured to herself. She went to her closet for some decent clothes and saw her cell phone, which was on the chair. She decided to call Dave.

Her phone rung three times before he picked up.

"It's Becky," she said. "How are you doing, Dave?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Three thirty, right?"

"Yes," Becky answered, glad he recalled. "So what are you doing? I'm not even dressed yet," she admitted.

"Me either," he said, his voice sounding a little preoccupied. "Look, Becky, I think I have to call you back. Tank is having fun shredding up the couch."

"Sure, sure! Remember the date," she reminded him. Then she hung up. Finally, after getting the correct outfit on (her favorite, yet still new dress), she went to see Dave. He opened the door the first time and she smiled at him. He wore a nice, clean suit.

"You look pretty," he told her shyly.

"Thanks. You look handsome yourself. Let's go."

They got a taxi. Thankfully, many were available on this night. At the restaurant, many couples were there. It was decorated gorgeously and French menus were present. Becky could see that most of the people dining were young women and older men; daughters and their dads. She felt a sting of sadness, but remembered that she was here to have a good time with Dave. They got a good table, thanks to the reservations. The food was well prepared. Becky couldn't recall the last time she went to a nice place like this for dinner.

They avoided speaking about fathers. Or Father's Day in general. Instead, they talked about Dave's training.

"What have you learned?" she asked. The idea of magic now intrigued her.

"Not a lot. I'm levitating at an okay pace," he said modestly. "Veronica's been a great help…as much as she has been a distraction. She and Balthazar, er, get a little busy when we're supposed to be training." Becky tried not to laugh at that. She failed.

"How about you? The studio?"

"Things are fine. We've got three more people listening," she added. "I have no idea who, but I'm sure Andre got at least two of them. How's that paper of yours?"

"I'm surprised you remembered," he admitted. "It's good. Could be better. I'll have to work on it more. And train with Balthazar." He frowned. "It's cutting into my time," he complained lightly. Becky lifted her glass and saw that it was empty. She turned her head to call over a waiter or waitress, and found herself staring at a young woman marching her way over to their table. She wasn't going in any other direction; her eyes were solely latching on to Becky's own.

"Dave?" Becky whispered to him. "Do you know that girl?"

She was now in front of them, towering with her tall stature. Becky could see her more clearly now. She had waist long curly hair, auburn. Her eyes were brown and she was fit. She wasn't wearing a dress, but a long burgundy coat. The girl definitely did not clothe herself for a dinner date. Becky saw that her expression seemed amused. The young woman had a teeny tiny smile on her face. Something about her was so familiar…

"Hi," Becky said, surprised she had spoken at all.

The woman smiled at her. "Hi." Then she inclined her head towards Dave. Becky threw a quick glance at him, and saw that he was frowning, his eyes angrily looking at the surface of the table.

"Davey? That you?" She giggled.

Dave's head snapped up. "Don't call me that," he said, irritated, to the girl.

Davey? Becky thought, mystified.

"Oh, don't be like that," the girl said, really enjoying herself. "Whatever happened to friendly relationships?" "I never said anything about that," Dave hissed at her. Becky was stunned; he was being so mean to her, but she had a feeling he was acting like such for a good reason. "How did you get out anyways?"

"By sheer luck and great intelligence," the girl responded, flashing him a grin. "You're not the only smart one in the family, Dave."

"Why are you here?" Dave demanded. Worry began to build up inside of Becky.

"Don't be rude," she scolded him. "So, dear Dave, I just stopped by to tell you that he's gonna come over soon; since it's a special day, y'know?" She turned around and left the restaurant.

Dave abruptly got up from his chair. "We have to go. Now."

"What do you mean?" Becky stumbled. "We just came here!"

"She's a sorceress," Dave explained. "Bad news. Let's go." He stormed out of the restaurant, and as soon as Becky heard the word sorceress, she felt a need to follow.

Dave got a taxi hurriedly. He threw the address at the man, who accepted it without caring. He brought them to his apartment. Becky stayed in the living room, frozen with confusion. Dave could be heard storming off and rummaging through something. He had been pretty angry back in the restaurant. But why? He knew the girl. They could have been past boyfriend and girlfriend. But Dave said he never had a girlfriend before, not a real one. And if that girl was a Morganian, wouldn't she have done something back then? Well? Becky didn't think she was a Morganian. Or, if she was one, she could have been cocky and teasing. Or perhaps the young woman was only human, like her. She could have known Dave and they weren't on good terms, apparently.

Becky went into his room to confront some answers. He was in the closet, a dark shape bent over something. Becky wrinkled her nose at the smell of ancient clothes.

"What's happening? Who was that girl?" Becky demanded from him.

"That was someone I knew," Dave sighed, still in the closet. "Becky, I'm sorry for our night being ruined. But don't worry. I don't want to talk about her right now. She annoys me."

Becky processed this. It would be mean to speak about her when Dave didn't want to, even though it would be rational. "A sorceress? Is she a Merlinian?"

"She can practice magic, but I don't know about her loyalty," Dave answered. "Becky, can you stay here for a little while? I have to go back and check with that girl. I won't be long."

"Stay? I can't come with you?"

"She doesn't like humans," Dave explained. "Please, just stay."

"How do you know it's safe, Dave?" she asked, trembling. Was he insane? He had faced sorcerers before, and survived, but Becky didn't want him going out there with only one ring to rely on.

"She won't hurt me," Dave said insistently. "Trust me on this. She's close to me, all right?"

"Close?" Becky repeated. "How close?" Dave got up from the closet and continued to the door, still wearing the tux.

"Almost like family close," was his weary reply.

"I'll stay, Dave!" Becky called. "But you better come back after five minutes, or I'm getting Balthazar!"

"Okay! I love you!" And then she heard the door shut loudly. Becky paused as the silence claimed her. She slowly sat down on his bed, toying with her bracelet. So far, this was turning out to be a bad Father's Day. She grabbed her cell phone and put it right on Balthazar's new number. He would come back. He had to. Her hand itched to call, but one minute had not even passed.

* * *

Dave gritted his teeth as he trudged back down in his tux. He was having a nice time with Becky, momentarily forgetting his current problems and family complications until Rachael showed up right in front of their table, going on and on. And she used his childhood nickname! Seriously, not even his mother called him Davey anymore. Dave actually doubted his eyes when he saw her there. She had been gone for so long, and been locked up pretty tightly. He hadn't seen her since he was eight. Dave felt a blast of cool wind and jumped. He got another taxi and the man there drove him to the restaurant. Dave saw that his sister was in front of the doors, smirking at him. He marched over to her.

"Hey! You!" Dave hissed.

"Dave!" the girl cried, acting pleasantly surprised. "Where have you been? Why, I thought you were inside! With that human girl!"

"I was, but then you paraded inside," Dave fumed. "How did you get here? You're supposed-"

"To be in the Cell, I know," Rachael finished bitterly. But then she added brightly, "Come on, Dave, let's go talk somewhere more private."

"Fine. Follow me." Rachael followed him to Bowling Park. The exact place where Dave had defeated Morgana. This installed a sense of security and self-confidence in him. If he could beat one of the most strongest Morganians of the world, Morgana herself, then he could talk with someone of less power. He wanted Rachael out of his hair immediately. Part of him held on to Becky. If she called Balthazar…

"How did you get out of the Cell?" Dave demanded.

"Oh, that." She waved her hand absentmindedly. "The walls of the Cell have been weakening, toots. No one has ever thought of putting up some stronger foundation; I was just a little girl back then, after all. It's not like I was something to protect from the world." She grinned at him, revealing her sharp tooth.

Dave frowned at it. "All right, that's nice of them. How did you find me?"

"Please. I could track you from Siberia if I wanted. That simple."

Dave glared.

Rachael's eyes suddenly grew suspicious. "Now, it's back to business. Where is he?"

"Who?" Dave asked casually.

"You know!" Rachael exploded. Her eyes were large and angry now. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her red coat. "Where is Pops, eh? I know you're hiding him somewhere. He would have helped me, or he would have stopped you from being with that stupid human girl." She sniffed in disapproval.

"That is none of your business, Rachael. You want to find him? Find him yourself."

Rachael called out to him as he began to walk away. "He's your father too, Dave! Some son _you_ are!"

Dave ignored her. He had to go back to Becky and try to cover this mess up. If he could.

* * *

Becky had enough. More than five minutes passed. Dave could have taken more time to talk to that girl. She had been the one to stress him out, and Dave probably needed more than five minutes to speak with her. But her limit was reached. She couldn't take any chances. Becky grabbed her cell phone. And then she heard that awful noise.

It came from the closet. The closet was rattling. The door shook, trying to break open. It kept shaking, and shaking, and shaking. Her fingers froze around her cell phone. This was not average, even for Dave. There was something inside that closet. It continued to angrily quiver. Becky was afraid the door would be split into two if that pattern kept up. The closet banged three more times, in a rhythmus thudding. Like Morse Code.

"Hello?" Becky whispered. She was trembling again.

Three more knocks. Oh, no way! It was a code! Whatever was in there, whether a person or monster, it had heard her and was trying to contact her! Becky stood up, leaving her phone on Dave's bed. She took a few hesitant steps forward the now-silent door.

"Hello?" Her voice was much clearer, louder.

Three more bangs! She had to open it now. Becky took her purse and fumbled around for some kind of defensive tool to keep in her hand, in case something evil was lurking inside the closet.

Becky felt her fingers curl around her pepper spray. Good. She held it while the other hand reached forward the door's knob. The closet wasn't making any noises…

Her hands gripped the knob tightly.

And then she opened the door.

Becky's hand shot out and pepper spray flung out of the little container. She kept her eyes shut as she unleashed the spray. Nothing. She didn't feel anything. One eye opened hesitantly. Becky opened the other eye. There wasn't any person or beast in front of her. Not even around the room. Just pitch darkness in the little space of the closet, and a white object in the middle.

Becky picked the item up with no doubts. Interesting, she didn't feel so frightened anymore. Becky eagerly turned the thing in her hands. It was only a box. It looked like a box for keeping jewelry or something like that. But nothing was in it, except for a little pile of fine blue crystals. They looked much like sand.

"Why does Dave keep sand in his closet?" Becky mused out loud. She decided not to open it. Becky randomly thought of Pandora. Right. She should not touch it. It was all his. Becky could ask about it when he got back.

Furious knocks on the door brought Becky back to earth.

She opened the door and paled when she saw the girl in the red coat. the one Dave went to see. But no Dave in sight. Becky craned her neck to look around the young woman. No Dave.

"Where is Dave?" asked Becky, her lips quivering. She didn't want to be alone with this girl.

Instead of getting an answer, Becky was thrown across the room. She fell to the floor, but luckily, no broken bones or sprains. Her head hurt a little from the sudden rush, but she was definitely okay. Now anger took her. Who was this girl to barge in and push her to the ground like that? Not even a decent hello! Becky got up and stiffly went into Dave's room, where she heard the girl go.

When she got there quickly, she saw the girl holding the little box of sand. All the color drained from Becky's face again. Whatever warmth she felt before was gone.

"Hey!" Becky roared, furious of the rudeness coming from the girl. "What are you doing here?" Some part of her knew it was dangerous to be speaking like this with someone who controlled magic. But she was angry. And she had pepper spray. Now was the time to use it. Becky lifted her hand, but the next words stopped her plan.

"Thanks a ton, human," the girl said, smiling angelically at her. "This'll help." With that, she thrust open the window in Dave's room and leaped out.

Footsteps came crashing through, evading Becky's ears.

Dave was suddenly behind her, yelling.

"What was that? Did someone-"

She could have sworn he saw the closet door open, the box of sand gone.

"Becky! There was something there, a box, is it-"

The pepper spray dropped from her fingers.

"I'm sorry, Dave. This is all my fault."

And then she fainted.

* * *

Becky, you delicate thing! Okay, sorry this is super short. But I had to save the rest for the next chapter!

-A.T.


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I searched most of this stuff online, and this is how the family tree stuff worked. I even used fake names. There was a cheesy ad on that too! Okay, enjoy.

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CHAPTER TWO:

Becky's eyes lazily opened up to the dull gray room; she willed her lids to close so she could enjoy the beautiful comfort of peaceful rest. But something inside ordered her to stay awake, as she was now. Becky sighed, surprised her breath smelled okay. Footsteps. She lifted her head and then pulled her sight down to see what she was wearing. A dress, her favorite one. That rung a bell. Hazy memories poured in, but she didn't have enough time to shift through them properly for an explanation. Becky looked up just in time to see Dave. He looked out of sorts and disheveled.

"Becky!" he cried, alarmed. "You're awake; how do you feel?"

"Fine," she told him. She got up and walked towards him, a little slow thanks to the sleep. She had been on the couch. Dave attempted to catch her if she fell. "How come you're so urgent?"

"You…don't remember?" His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"No, I really don't," Becky said quietly. "What happened? I know I fainted…"

Dave sat down on the couch, pulling her gently. She leaned back in her seat and stared into his eyes, looking for some form of answers. His eyes were brown, the kind of brown she always liked. Becky could see sadness and soft fury, and…

And that girl had brown eyes too.

"That girl! She was at the restaurant, and she took some box," Becky realized, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a rush of water from a hose. "I can't believe it, Dave, I was so stupid. I answered the door without looking… She stole something of yours. It was a box of blue little crystals, it looked like sand."

All while she was babbling hurriedly, he wore a strange expression on his face.

"I know."

"Oh, right, I fainted…and you saw it missing, right?" Becky bit her lip, frustrated with her own idiocy. How could she have been the neglecting? She should have seen who was at his door!

"It was not your fault," Dave said, letting go of her hand. "It was mine. I…did some things that I could have done differently."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, confused. "Done what differently?"

Dave let out a big gush of air from his mouth, like it was homework explaining this to her. "Becky? Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

"Yes!" she hissed. "She's my business now too!"

"I…really don't want to talk about this. Not now."

"Please tell me who she is," Becky begged. "Dave, I have no idea who she was. Or why she came in your apartment. Why she came in the first place anyways. When you left to speak with her, I was so worried. I was afraid."

His expression remained stubborn, even though the mention of her fear seemed to gnaw at his eyes.

She swapped tactics. "What if that girl comes again?" Becky demanded, angry she couldn't do anything to help. "Huh, Dave? And she hurts you?"

"She won't hurt me," Dave assured her. "And if she does…well, that's my problem."

Becky groaned. "Dave," she said wearily. "What if she takes you away from me? And I won't be able to do anything to stop her? I couldn't stand it if that happened."

That plan worked. His look dropped. He stared at the floor in anguish, shaking his head furiously. Dave put his head in his hands.

"Dave?" Becky asked cautiously.

"She won't take me away, Becky," he said creakily. "She definitely won't be able to do that…it's not her."

She understood his pained words. She bent her back and her head was at his level. She unhooked his hands from his head and looked at him straight in the eye. Dave stared back unwillingly. Becky grabbed both of his hands and held them tightly.

Very slowly, making each word distinct and clear, Becky said to him, "Dave. That girl can't take you away. Sure. But that means someone _else_ can. Who is that?"

Dave pulled his hands free. "I have to go Becky." He got up and started to walk to the door.

"Your dad," Becky snapped swiftly, hoping to stop him from leaving. "It's your father, isn't it?"

That's when Dave's tracks were cut off short. She smiled smugly, successful.

He backed up to the couch. "It's sort of him. And the girl. I can't explain it right now-"

"When? After she's done doing whatever with the sand? After something happens with your dad? After another sorcerer shows up?"

He sighed angrily. "I _can't_ tell you, Becky. It would be really dangerous. If they found out that you knew everything, I don't believe they'll let you hang around much. I don't _want_ anyone to hurt you. We can talk about this, sure, but only after I try to get the sand back."

Becky couldn't speak. The thought of…being attacked made her wince. She didn't like to be in pain. Who did? Masochists, of course, but she wasn't a masochist. Becky didn't want Dave to get hurt either, in his hope to get back that box of sand. Truthfully, it was her fault. However, she was completely convinced that the girl in the red coat would have come in and gotten it without her holding it. She looked at Dave's straight in the eye.

"It was my fault," Becky told him in a hard tone. "The closet was rattling. She got the box from my hands, since I opened it. I wanted to see what was making that noise; but you can't even tell me about that, right?"

Dave frowned. "It was _not_ your fault, Becky. She's a sorceress, remember? She didn't care if you had it or not, as long as she got it. And that box of sand. It holds something that can…" His voice trailed off.

She sensed an opportunity at truth. "What?" she demanded. "What can that sand do?"

He landed back on the couch, slumping in exhaustion. It _had _been an eventful day. It wasn't even night yet.

"Telling everything bit by bit will be impossible," Dave said to her. Becky held his hands and swore she would not let go. He was not getting away this time.

"I don't care. Tell me what you know. It's me and you now, Dave."

"That's the part I mind," he grumbled. "Having you involved is a bad idea."

"The truth?" Becky prodded.

Dave leaned back, but his hands were still encased in Becky's. "Right. The truth. Let's see…where should I start?"

"The beginning," Becky insisted.

Dave raised his eyebrows. "The beginning? It's not that much of a start."

"I don't care," repeated Becky.

Another sigh. "Fine. But this is still a bad idea, telling." He paused, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes.

Becky waited patiently.

"My father was born in the 1800s," Dave said clearly. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "I only know that from his past. He was…is a Morganian. I never knew about magic or his abilities. I only knew later on, after I defeated Morgana." His words took on an edgier, dark meaning. Becky didn't like the mental image it painted in her head: a gloomy setting with dead weeds and a black sky, with Dave walking home, unprotected and defenseless; a shadow that was his father, stalking him as he continued. She knew it was only her imagination getting out of hand. But she hated the evil fantasy in her mind. She banished the bad thoughts immediately.

"This happened two weeks ago. I went to the apartment," Dave murmured to her. Becky held on tighter. His hands felt so cold. "Bennet left me alone. He had a date or something like that. I didn't care; I had the whole place to myself, and I really needed some study time. Then a knock on the door. I thought it was Bennet, but it wasn't. It was a woman. She came in without me inviting her and introduced herself to me as Modessa.

"Modessa said she could not stay long. She gave me a notebook and said she was a friend of my mother's. And just as soon as she appeared, she left within the blink of an eye. I thought I was delusional, but then I remembered magic. So she was a Merlinian or Morganian. I decided to read the notebook, then call Balthazar."

"What happened?" Becky asked, her ears absorbing every word. The story, more like a _recollection_, was lacking in detail and vivid portrayal. Becky wanted more to know, more to listen to. Every bit of information that was obtained mattered. But Dave wasn't giving anything than necessary up. She was stuck with a bland, thin memory that wouldn't help if she tried to come along.

"It was my mother's journal," Dave flatly answered. "Inside, it revealed that my dad is a Morganian. Modessa captured him and put him inside this object; he would be stuck there forever. My sister, the girl in the red coat, was also trapped in a prison, the Cell. And I never heard from them again."

_Until your sister showed up at the restaurant, _Becky thought, shivering, now that she knew that the girl was a relative. That complicated everything.

"And what then?" she whispered. Her voice was much too hoarse.

"And then nothing," Dave snapped. He wrenched his hands free from Becky's, and stood up from the couch. She sat, as still as a block of stone. He disappeared through a door while Becky contemplated the girl in red. His sister, actually. But what could she do to Dave? Not hurt him, no, she couldn't do that to her own brother. That was why she looked so familiar. Dave walked back in, dressed in a jacket and jeans. He put on his shoes and gave her a tight smile.

"I'll be back," he promised her. "I just need to see my sister. Okay?"

The door clicked softly. He left without a response. Becky bit down on her lip. Hard.

She went to Dave's room and found her cell phone, on the bed. She picked it up, cradling the metallic item in her hands, glad he didn't move it to somewhere else. Becky picked up one number.

Balthazar. A Merlinian who was on the good side, someone who would one hundred percent _help _with this crazy, twisted problem. Dave's sister, who was willing to barge in and steal something of her brother's. Dave's father, who was a sorcerer himself, probably more skilled and more efficient. He could be capable of killing, of hurting. A Morganian could do all those things.

She had to call. She had to. What would happen to Dave if she didn't?

And then she remembered the key words in this entire fiasco, one that was slowly beginning to form soon in time. This was a family feud. It did not involve Balthazar or Veronica, not even her. It was all Dave and his relatives. This was his business. His privacy.

And if she called, she was allowing Balthazar and Veronica step in on his privacy.

But out of love! Becky reminded herself quickly. Dave, he would understand! He had done so much for her, straight out of love.

She probably would have convinced herself that calling Balthazar would have been the right thing to do, had not Dave's face appeared fresh in her mind.

In her head, his expression was in shock and hurt, brown eyes filled with anger thanks to her betrayal. Hurt, because she had told someone else about his family matters. He believed that he could remain unscathed. Maybe he was right. Maybe Dave could live, because these people were his blood.

"Just call him!" Becky snapped at herself. Instead of doing what she thought was safe and correct, she threw the phone at the bed. It landed on the pillow. She would wait.

"You better come back unharmed, Dave," she whispered to herself. Then she went on his computer and fleshed out the Google search engine from the others, only due to the fact it was the first one she saw. When the large letters appeared above the rectangular thin box, she hurriedly wrote in what she wanted to see.

_Family trees._

She got a handful of results within a matter of seconds. Becky clicked on the first result. A simple homepage appeared, white and light blue. There was a big box that flashed on the screen, with easy questions required to find the family tree. Becky placed 'male' on the gender form, since it was Dave's heritage she was searching for.

First and last name? Dave Stutler. She filled in the email address, the country he was born in, year of birth. Then came the two questions on his mom's name, and the dad's name. Oh, this was bad. She didn't know Dave's father's name. They never spoke about it… And then Becky remembered this was Dave's apartment she was in. She could find answers swiftly. Becky got up and racked the entire place for clues on the names. She eventually found a small red book that must have been his planner. Names, dates, and addresses filled the pages. But they were recent, and also not the ones she truly needed. Becky had to flip all the way to the front to find her information. The page she was on was old, yellow, and a little frayed around the edges. Geez! When was the last time he looked at this? He must have been so separated from his family. Becky never had any problems like that. A small spark of pity lit up inside her, but then she reminded herself she had a mission.

Gwen Stutler and Damien James Stutler. There was his mother's address and number, but nothing for his father. Only three words that made up his name. There were his sister's contacts too, but it was mostly crossed out.

She headed back to his computer and typed in the names. The next thing was just a dumb discount ad, which she could skip. After, gratefully, came up the answers. Thank goodness. She couldn't fill anything else. She only had a few measly names.

There were a lot of Stutlers. More than she could count. She hit the print button and instantly, the papers came out with good ink. She leaned back in the chair and read through the copies. She breezed past Dave's name and his parents' names, as well as the sister's. She only wanted to know his grandparents and great grandparents.

Rosalind Lance married Everett Stutler, both of whom were Dave's grandparents. Damien Stutler's father's father had been Gregorr Stutler, and his wife had been Ava Lesling. The Lances had been around during the times of the Salem Witch Trials…just like little Abigail Williams. The Lesling family was limited; Ava was the only daughter out of five children who did not catch tuberculosis. Becky doubted this tiny piece of information. It was certainly helpful to have these names and their teensy weensy history, but this could have been made up by the site, for all she knew. Becky clicked the How Do We Know This? button. It claimed that the person who wrote up this little article was one of the founders of the website. She quickly scrolled down to the bottom of the page, which listed the names of the founders. She memorized all of their names before going back up to the How Do We Know This? The writer was Charlotte Markov. Becky opened up another window and typed in this woman's name. An article was written about her on Wikipedia, a site Becky deeply mistrusted. But it was the only valuable offer of information; and yet it was still to be doubted. There were a few passages about her. Charlotte Markov was born in Russia and there was even a picture of her. She was in her thirties and a sophisticated, stern-looking brunette. She was well known in Russia for two novels, one on czar history, the other on…

The possibility of magic.

No way.

She had to be connected to magic in _some _way. It was too coincidental this woman wrote a book on magic, and she wrote about Dave's family as well. She must have known something. Becky thanked her lucky stars she had decided to go on the computer. She didn't call Balthazar for quite some time. Now that she had enough information for him, she could. She was useful. Becky went on the computer again and searched up the book title. _Makings of the Magic _by Charlotte Markov. There weren't a lot of listings for that on the book websites, just used copies. Becky didn't need the book; she just needed a good look at the contents. Thankfully, there were buttons that let her click on the cover and take a peek at the chapters inside. The first was some preface, the true first chapter was on the meaning of magic. The second was about the earliest signs of magic and the cultures of it.

The third chapter was about families that had believed to be involved with magic, if it existed. Becky was all too curious to pass up that opportunity. She clicked on chapter three, and was allowed to look at three pages only. On the third page, all the way at the end, there was a sentence that said: _Another family, not as known, is the Stutl-_

She shut off the computer improperly and grabbed her phone. She dialed and immediately, Balthazar picked up.

"There's something you have to know," Becky breathed.

* * *

Dave had only dashed a few streets away from the apartment, having not one clue on how to contact his irresponsible sister, with no way to reason with her (that had been quite obvious from the moment she fled from his apartment), when his phone rang.

It could have been Becky, Balthazar, Veronica, even Bennet. But Dave knew all too well when his fingers brushed across the screen in his pocket, that is was his older sister.

He reluctantly and at the same time, willingly, picked up her call.

"Rachael." He sighed her name in resignation.

"Little brother." Her voice mocked him.

"I'm glad you called," he said, struggling to place the formation of the words correctly. Dave ran a free hand through his now-messy hair. "I need to talk to you. It's urgent."

"Little brother," Rachael said, and if Dave had gotten a glimpse of her right now, he could have sworn she was smiling, "I already know what you want. It's pretty clear."

"I know I'm not getting it."

"Honestly, David, why are you against this?" his sister asked, a note of slight annoyance marring her amused tone. "He _is _your father. Aren't sons supposed to love their fathers?"

"They are," Dave breathed. "But not when they miss a bunch of birthdays."

"Get over that," Rachael sneered. "What are you, a ten-year-old?"

"And not when they murder their newborn daughter," Dave forced on her. He heard a catch in her breath, but she still spoke.

"So what, there wasn't any pain," she snarled, but she sounded a little disturbed over the fact. So she hadn't known.

"And not when they try to kill their wife," Dave said, his voice cracking.

No one said anything.

"He…didn't do…that," she finished uncertainly. "Not…to Mom."

"He tried," Dave disagreed. "And almost succeeded, if I hadn't walked in the room. Don't deny that, Rachael. I know what I saw. He's a killer. He's killed before, which you are perfectly aware of, and you must know that he planned to kill again. You, him, the other Morganians. You're just the same."

"I've had _enough!_" Rachael shouted. "Tell me what you want, and it better not be about the box of sand. 'Cause I'm not givin' that up, sweetheart."

Their conversation had turned to a different path immediately.

"I understand you don't want to hand it over to me, fine," Dave hissed back. "Whatever. I guess I'll have to deal with what's coming. But could you slow the process down?"

"Slow it?"

"Yeah, slow it down," Dave said. "I need more time to prepare. I can't face him when I'm not that well trained."

When Rachael talked again, she sounded fairly stunned. "Wait. You think your father wants to…_kill _you? That's why you think I want to let him out?"

Dave sighed. "I know you only want to release him so you two can continue your little empire of evil."

"But…to _murder _you? Our old man wouldn't do that to me or you."

"I know," Dave murmured. "But he would definitely hurt someone else."

"The human girl," Rachael realized. She giggled. "Your girlfriend? Right. I wonder what Dad's gonna say when he sees you with her. It'll be worse than a grounding, I bet."

"I have nothing to do with him. All I'm asking is for time to get myself ready to meet him."

"Hey, Dave?" she asked. "You do know Dad's going to want to meet Becky formally? And _then _unleash havoc? Because, really, that's what dads do. Meet their kid's girlfriend."

"I wasn't preparing for _that_ kind of confrontation," Dave grumbled.

She laughed airily. "Hoo boy, I'm glad I don't have a boyfriend. Good luck with everything, little brother."

Sensing that she was about to hang up, Dave quickly inserted, "Hold on, what about what you said today? About him visiting? Because it was a special day?"

"You remembered." She sounded pleased. "Yes, he'll visit, but when I said that, I honestly didn't mean our father." "Who?" Dave demanded.

A pause. "No, I am not ruining the surprise."

"Tell me, Rachael!"

Another period of silence. _Oh no, don't hang up!_ Dave thought.

And then, "Okay, I'm bad at keeping secrets. It's dear Uncle Cyril. Okay, by Davey, I've got to hurry up with the pentagon."

"But what about slowing things down!"

"Oh, silly, I'm not speeding up the process! No this is entirely different. Bye."

She hang up.

Uncle Cyril was going to visit today. His father's brother.

As Rachael would have said when they were kids, 'the Lord is not with you today.'

* * *

I wonder if this was all placed in an okay fashion. I want to make the chapters longer, I honestly do, but it helps making them this way. Thanks for reviewing!

Oh, and the people I asked to use their comments, and got their permission, don't worry, it's coming in soon.

-A.T.


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE:

Becky had a mixture of emotions swell up inside of her when she opened the door. Of course, she _had _been expecting relief. Balthazar Blake stood with Veronica, his dark eyes clouded with doubt. Becky felt a nice wave of calm wash over here; she was glad she had a sorcerer here, and not just any _sorcerer_. But as the calm simmered, she felt a little abashed and nervous. Ashamed, because she was intruding into Dave's personal life, and nervous because she had never seen Balthazar look so…so angry. There was not a word for his expression. Becky decided she should just ignore his face and keep her eyes on the black fabric of his modern-day jacket.

Balthazar marched inside with Veronica at his side. Becky led them to the living room while she froze up at the idea of Dave coming to his apartment, and seeing the pair here. How would he react to this? Becky was already feeling like a traitor.

Balthazar interrupted her musings. "Becky, where did you learn of this?"

"At the beginning of the week," Becky mumbled, remembering how strange he was acting, "Dave and I went for coffee. I noticed he was being odd, but I thought that I should leave him alone."

"And then?" Veronica pressed.

"And then, we had a date on Father's Day," Becky said. "It still _is _Father's Day." She had forgotten.

Balthazar gave her a look that said _keep talking._

"Um, and a girl showed up," she said, reminding herself to tack on all the important details. "I found out later on that the girl was his older sister. At least, I think she's the older sister, she really looks more adult-ish."

"What did the girl do?"

"She just said a lot of stuff, which I don't remember. Sorry," she added, seeing Balthazar's stern face. "Dave and I went to his apartment. He left to go talk to her. His closet was rattling, so I opened it. Inside, there was a box full of tiny blue crystals. Then I heard knocking on the door. It was stupid of me, but I opened it without checking who it was. His sister was there and she threw me aside. She had the box and…sort of launched herself out the window. I'm sure she survived. Dave came back"-she edited the part about her fainting-"and said he had to speak with her again. I guess it was more urgent with her having that box. He told me his father was a Morganian and he was trapped inside some sort of thing and so was his sister. But she got out. And now, I think she's trying to get her dad out. That's why she stole the box of sand."

Balthazar assessed this new information. After a pause of thought, he asked her, "Do you know the girl's name?"

"Yes, I even printed out his family's names from a family tree website I found." She gave him the papers, pointing to the one name circled in red.

"Rachael Stutler," he read out loud.

"Does the name ring a bell?" Becky asked.

He looked at the papers before answering. "No," he finally admitted.

Becky sighed.

"What about these others names, love?" Veronica asked, her eyes skimming down the page from top to bottom. She seemed to be briefly reading them.

"Damien James Stutler? Gwen Stutler?" Balthazar shook his head at the unfamiliar names. Becky felt something inside her stomach sink.

"Dave said his father was born in the 1800s," Becky added, hoping that would be useful.

"I've never met any of the Stutlers before, I believe," Balthazar said. "Dave's the only person, so far. None of these names here say anything to me."

"Balthazar, there's also this woman," Becky babbled, remembering the Russian. "She was born in Russia and her name is Charlotte Markov. She wrote a book on magic too."

Immediately, Balthazar was closing his eyes, going back to his earlier years. "Charlotte Markov, you say? I remember going to Russia months ago, but not being able to remember this woman."

"What does she look like?" Veronica asked.

Her sudden tone surprised Becky. Flustered, she said, "Er, she has dark brown hair and blue eyes, I think. She's somewhere in the thirties section."

Veronica was thinking now, too. "Charlotte Markov…"

"Modessa," Becky said suddenly.

Two pairs of eyes met hers.

"What did you say?" Balthazar asked quietly.

"M…Modessa," Becky said, swallowing. "Dave told me that Modessa was a friend of his mom's."

"Balthazar," Veronica said slowly. "Do you believe that could have been Modessa Kay?"

"Modessa isn't such a popular name these days," Balthazar said. "It _is _a possibility we can't ignore."

There was another string of silence. But the door slammed against the wall and all three heads turned to see Dave standing. His hair looked unrulier than before, and he wore a disgruntled expression. Becky got the urge to dive behind the couch, but it was ridiculous to be afraid.

"Dave," Balthazar growled. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Dave looked around the room, avoiding Balthazar's expression. He saw Veronica, who nodded as a greeting. Becky kept her eyes on the floor again.

"You…told?"

"Dave," she said, worried now. "I… Yes." She wanted to tell him the true reason behind it, how upset and scared she was. But _yes _was the only answer that came out.

He appraised her and then, his eyes snapped to Balthazar. There was no fury in either of their faces. Dave shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. He came to sit on the couch, next to Becky.

"I'm not mad," Dave said. "I guess it was going to happen one way or another. I'm glad it was you who told, instead of me, though."

Becky had _not _anticipated this. She relaxed and took comfort in Dave's presence. She had been getting herself worked up over nothing. But then she took another peek at him. He seemed to be leaning against the couch in resignation. She could feel the corners of her own mouth pulling down.

"Dave-" But Balthazar cut her off.

"This Modessa character," he said, directing his question to Dave, "was your mother's friend?"

"Yeah, according to her," Dave grumbled.

"Do you know anything about her?" Veronica prodded at him.

"No," Dave said slowly, peering at them, now with curiosity. "I don't. Why does it sound like you two know her?"

"We think that the Modessa woman who appeared at your apartment is actually someone we knew when we were little," Veronica explained.

"How?" Dave demanded. "You didn't even see what she looked like!" "Yes," Balthazar agreed patiently. "But her name is an uncommon one in this century. Modessa Kay was a daughter of a Merlinian back then. She was mostly Veronica's friend, but I met her a few times. Modessa was often flashy, a tad sarcastic, but had a good heart, overall."

"So what happened to her?" Becky asked.

"We don't know," Veronica answered. "I stopped seeing her because she had to move away with her parents. And I had training. We had forgotten all about her now that we've settled in to a new place. To be truthful, I don't think she's even alive; hearing her name again _does _make me wonder whatever happened to her."

"Your Modessa _could _be the one that was at my apartment," Dave realized. His shoulders slumped. "But I don't care who it was. My dad's going to be let out of his prison and then he's going to come find me."

Balthazar's eyes flashed. "Dave. Is there something wrong with your father?"

"Him being a Morganian?" Dave asked, his eyes widening. Every next sentence was layered with thick sarcasm. "Oh, no, that can't _possibly_ be the reason for my problems."

The way he spoke reminded Becky of that Drake Stone guy.

"All right, Dave, calm down," Veronica said sternly. "What will happen if your father is released?"

"He'll ruin my life," Dave said sourly. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked down, all of sudden, interested in the floorboards. "And there other reasons I don't want him here."

"Okay," Veronica said, stepping in before Balthazar could answer. "You don't enjoy your father's company. Will he cause physical harm on anyone?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Wait," Dave said, taking back his first couple of answers. "I mean, I'm _positive_ he'll hurt someone." In a much lower voice (through gritted teeth, Becky noted), he added, "It's in his nature."

"Are any other f… Companions involved?" Balthazar asked. Becky could sense he was going to say family, but knew it would offend Dave.

"My sister Rachael," Dave answered in a monotone voice. "And… Ugh, I just remembered. She said that my uncle was visiting." The impact of this news hit him, and then Dave groaned.

"How bad is your uncle?" Becky asked, blinking.

"Balthazar, Veronica, I'd appreciate if you would leave," Dave said to them. His eyes were imploring them to go. "Go find out about this Charlotte Markov, that should help. Let me deal with my uncle on my own. He's actually harmless."

"Dave…" Balthazar began.

"No," Veronica said firmly, holding an arm out to stop Balthazar from approaching Dave. "If he wants to see his uncle alone, then that is his decision. Balthazar, you must leave him be. Let's listen to him; we could search for Charlotte."

Balthazar looked at her, then sighed. He gave in. "Fine. Dave, call me if anything goes wrong. Becky, the same goes for you. We'll look around for this Charlotte."

"It'll be safe," Dave murmured. "All my uncle has to say is rude remarks, is all. It's not like he'll throw a vase at me or anything."

Becky didn't like hearing about things being thrown around. Especially if they were being thrown at Dave.

After Becky took out her cell phone, showed it to Balthazar, and the couple left, she turned to Dave. He looked dejected. Becky hugged him gently.

"It's going to be fine. Let your uncle come."

"It won't be fine," Dave whispered back.

Becky continued to hold on to him, but some part of her knew it was not going to be all peachy as Dave promised to Balthazar.

* * *

Becky had gone home and swapped outfits. She no longer wore her favorite dress, but a suitable white blouse and blue skirt. Becky felt like she was wearing a private school uniform. She seated herself carefully on the couch, trying not to wrinkle any type of fabric she had on. Dave was pacing in front of her, hands clasped behind the back in a professional manner. Becky would have giggled or teased him under normal circumstances, but being visited by your boyfriend's uncle (who was related to a _Morganian_ father) was anything but average.

"Dave," Becky spoke up. He continued to pace, but his ears seemed alert.

"Yeah. What is it?"

"Can…Can you tell me something?" she asked.

"Depends." His voice was somewhat wary.

Becky stretched herself to lessen her anxiety level. She took in the ceiling and then the couch itself. Everything here reminded her of her own home. Soft, comfortable, sweet. She remembered sitting on the living room sofa with her father, and her mother would stroll in from the kitchen, telling them to scoot. Becky would move her behind because when her mother said scoot, she _meant _it. Her mom would grandly seat herself between her dad and herself, folding her hands on her lap like a royal, and ask what was on TV. Her dad would say, "Sesame Street." because that's pretty much all Becky watched when she was little. And then her mother would look at the brightly colored creatures, saying _ooh _and _aah _in all the right places.

"What was it, Becky?" Dave asked. He had stopped pacing.

Becky, snapped out of her reverie, said, "I meant about your family."

"What do you want to know about my family?" There was that anxious, careful tone again.

"I'm intruding, I know," Becky said, apologetic.

"No." Dave sat next to her. "It's just that I don't feel great inside when we talk about my family. It's sort of…upsetting."

"Sorry. But I need to know, if I'm going to be a part of this. Girlfriends and boyfriends tell each other everything," Becky said, slyly watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye.

To her shock, he replied, "That's right, they do."

"Your uncle," she began. This topic must have been lighter than any other. "What is his name?"

"Cyril Tomas Stutler," Dave said immediately. "He's my uncle on my dad's side of the family."

"So, are they close? Cyril and your dad, I mean."

Dave thought about this question before answering. "I have no idea," he admitted. "Sometimes, Cyril watched me when my dad had to go on 'business trips'. Now I know those business trips meant magical trips to other Morganians and people. But I think he only babysat because my father paid him." As an afterthought, Dave added, "My uncle loves anything of value."

"Oh," Becky said. "Was he…nice to you?"

"Sure, I guess. In the your-dad-said-I-had-to way. He tried to show me magic existed once, but my mom came in and she seemed about ready to tear him into shreds."

"W-o-w," Becky said, making her word stretch into two syllables.

"It's a crazy family." Did Becky imagine the hint of regret in Dave's ton? No, she didn't think so.

There was a couple of knocks on the door. Becky and Dave froze, their backs upright. But they relaxed when they heard Bennet complaining.

"Open the door, Dave!"

Dave sighed and got up from the couch. Becky heard the door being opened and footsteps.

"Nice outfit, Becky," Bennet said, raising his eyebrows. "If you don't mind me asking, what's the occasion? Going to a church?"

Dave scowled. "No. Becky's going to meet someone."

Bennet processed this. "Ohh. Do you mean, like a family member?"

"Yes," Dave said, scowling even more now. His face turned a soft shade of pink.

He looked at Becky. "Be on your guard, Becks. He's got Cthulhu as a relative."

Dave shook his head, but he was smiling. He threw a couch cushion at Bennet. "Get out of here, Bennet."

Bennet threw the cushion back, which landed next to Dave. "Fine, fine. Who's coming over, though?"

"My uncle," Dave muttered.

"Ohh. Cyril? The one that always drank that glass full of red?" Bennet asked.

"Yeah." Dave nodded yes to the last question.

"Do you need wine or something?" Bennet inquired. "I could get you some, since it's your uncle, and not your dad."

Dave flushed. "Go, Bennet. Text your girlfriend or something."

"Sure, sure. Remember, Becky: his family is _jacked _up." Bennet sauntered out of the room, leaving the two alone.

"Dave," Becky said after a pause. "Does your uncle get… I'm sorry, but does he get drunk, possibly?"

Once again, Dave blushed. "No, Cyril doesn't. But when he watched me when I was little, he used to have this glass and drink red liquid. I never knew what was inside. Some kind of fancy wine."

Becky's father had wine on rare occasions, but he didn't drink daily. Neither did her mother. Only now did Becky realize how much Dave's family was in shambles.

"I'm sorry, Dave. Sorry your uncle's like that. And your dad." She hugged him again.

She thought she heard him say, "Life's not fair."

The doorbell rung. Becky untangled himself from Dave immediately, feeling all the color drain out of her face. No way this was Balthazar or a friend. It had to be Cyril Tomas Stutler. Becky braced herself for the worst.

Bennet came out, all of a sudden. Becky was taken aback. He opened the door for someone (Becky shut her eyes at this point) and sent a large greeting to the man there.

"Come on in, Mr. Stutler," Bennet said graciously.

A silky laugh. It was the sound of velvet being rubbed with muslin. From a person she had come to fear over the few short minutes, Becky oddly thought the soft sound was much too soft for a Morganian's brother. Becky opened her eyes to see Bennet leading in a man.

He wore black clothes which were bland, but hinted at older designs. His skin was white as a sheet. His eyes were just as milky, a disturbing white color that Becky had never seen on any person. His hair was a complete contrast, a deep black. It was darker than Dave's hair, which was opaque itself. He didn't look a ton like Dave. If Becky hadn't known better, she would have thought this man was a friend, not a blood relative.

"Thank you, Benedict," Dave's uncle was saying. His tone was quite courteous. "It's been a while since I've been subjected to proper etiquette." Becky bit her lip when she heard Cyril's formal form of speech. He had the words of an Englishman, but the voice of an American.

"A pleasure, Cyril," Bennet returned, turning his back as he left the room once more. In the middle of his gait, he stopped and rolled his eyes a little at Becky, as if informing her of a small secret. She watched him go, confused.

Dave swiftly rose from the couch and walked over to close the few inches between him and his uncle. The way he walked seemed stiff. Becky got up too, but only stood there.

"Cyril," Dave said curtly.

His uncle smiled impishly. "David," he retorted, but his name was spoken much more properly.

Cyril took out a small cup from the inside of his coat pocket. Becky vaguely wondered how it could fit there; then she thought it was some sort of magical artifact. He extracted a vial as well, which was filled with thick red stuff. The red was spilled into the glass cup. Cyril put his vial away, but didn't raise the glass to his lips. He only held it.

These must have been the red Dave was talking about before.

"What's with the cold shoulder, nephew?" Cyril asked jokingly. "Don't want to see your uncle?"

Dave eyed the glass coldly. "I don't appreciate the fact you brought wine in here."

Cyril sighed delicately; the small sound reminded Becky of thin fog. "Please, David, I don't drink." He smiled to himself, as if enjoying a private joke. Becky stood still, completely paralyzed. It was like Dave's uncle hadn't noticed her yet. She hoped not. Something about him made her uncomfortable. The man himself was unnerving.

"Then what's in the glass?" Dave asked, beginning to get agitated.

"Just some blood, nephew," Cyril replied. He didn't recognize Dave's widening eyes and Becky's lack of color. He put the glass to his lips and drunk some of it. After he finished, he let out another sigh; it sounded satisfied this time. "One of the best bodies I ever drained. It was a female, and she was pretty too. It's too bad I was starving at the time. I would have let her go if my appetite was mildly at ease." He took another sip. The memory might have reminded him it was worth it, because he smiled and looked at the drink admiringly. The blood inside got thicker and looked different to Becky now.

She thought she was going to throw up.

"Cyril," Dave said, much more steel in his voice than before. "Just tell me what you need and be on your way."

The man laughed. "You sound a lot like your father. And a bit of your mother. Whenever she wanted me out, she would say the same. 'Be on your way, Cyril.'" He chuckled again.

Dave clenched his fists, then unclenched them. "Thanks for bringing up such great memories."

Cyril's expression of humor faded and was replaced by one of firm seriousness. "Your father contacted me," Cyril said, his tone painted bitter. "He wants you to come to his home."

"I thought he was trapped inside…" His sentence broke off from there.

"He is, but not to worry, David," his uncle said, taking another long drink from the glass. There was some red (Becky refused to think of it as blood) on his lips, and he licked it off eagerly. "Your sister was quite generous; she hasn't released him. _Yet._"

"But how could she talk to him, then?" Dave demanded.

"Rachael has connections, silly boy. Now," Cyril continued, ignoring Dave's stunned glare, "your sister sent me in the first place to come and get you. Damien agreed, and told me to pick you up right away."

Dave frowned. "I'm not going."

"And why not?" Becky shivered as she heard the dangerous edge to his voice.

Dave seemed lost for a moment, but then he recovered. He glared at his uncle. "I can't because I have a girlfriend," he snapped. Becky wondered if this was his true reason, or he was momentarily flustered by Cyril, and this popped out. Becky felt her insides squirm when Cyril cast her a hateful look. He crossed one arm and lifted the hand holding the glass, then drank from it. He seemed to be appraising her. This was the first time he had noticed her.

Cyril smiled (in a fake way) at her. It sent shivers down her spine.

"Your girlfriend?" he asked. "Interesting."

Becky couldn't make her lips move to respond.

"Yes," Dave growled.

"No need to be so hostile," Cyril said in a conversational tone. "I merely wanted to emphasis that she was _human_." Some awe escaped him on that word.

Dave blushed. "So?"

"Well, your father is not human. Your sister is not human. I am not human. And neither are you," Cyril said plainly, as if this was obvious. "I don't believe your father would love having her as your girlfriend."

"I don't care what _he_ thinks," Dave snapped, getting more aggravated by the second.

"Hmm," Cyril said. "She reminds me of the girl whose body I drained." He drank the red again.

Becky paled.

"You are not drinking from her," Dave said, glaring.

"Of course not, right," his uncle said quickly. "It would be…impolite. I've already had enough from the other girl."

Dave was tired of his uncle, Becky could see. He huffed, then he said, "Uncle. I want you. To. Leave."

"Certainly," Cyril agreed. He stepped back and then the door was thrown backwards; it didn't bang into the wall, thankfully. He made no move to go, though. Dave and Becky raised their eyebrows.

"You first," Cyril murmured.

"I just said I wasn't leaving! Go!"

"Not even to see your own father?" his uncle threw at him.

"Yeah," Dave retorted, his expression sour. "He tried to kill my mother, so there isn't any reason to see him."

"Try to kill your mother?" Cyril repeated. There were three creases across his forehead, but they instantly disappeared like water in the desert. "Your completely off on that, David."

"No, I'm not," Dave insisted.

"Well, dear, you're with a human girl," Cyril pointed out. "It isn't like your eyes have misled you before."

Becky could feel her cheeks growing warm and red. She was definitely blushing with embarrassment. From Dave's face, he was going scarlet too.

Dave snatched some unfamiliar keys off the coffee table; Becky had never noticed them before. He clutched them in one hand and stormed out of the door. Becky scurried after him like a twitchy mouse. She bet her last dollar that Dave's uncle was watching them go.

Outside of the apartment, Dave pulled open a door to a car. It was Bennet's car. He got in the passenger seat.

"Becky? Could you drive?" He sounded angry, but not at her.

"S-sure," she stammered. Becky quickly got into the driver's seat and was handed the keys. She had trouble putting them in, due to apprehension, but finally got to it. The car roared to life and Becky stomped on the pedal. The car lurched forward and sped reasonably away from Dave's apartment.

"D-Dave?" Becky asked, still stammering. She could still feel Cyril's gaze lingering on her, although he wasn't anywhere to be seen. It was a miracle she could drive without her hands shaking.

"Let's talk about something else," Dave suggested, his eyes on the road as Becky drove.

"Um, okay." Becky racked her brain for something to say. "Er, why did your uncle call Bennet Benedict?"

"My uncle and dad are twins; so they were both born in the 1800s. Cyril thinks Bennet's full name is Benedict."

"Oh," she said quietly. Then, she asked, "Does Bennet know about your family?"

"He knows my family is screwed up. He has no clue that my dad's just a bottle of Kool-Aid now." Dave put his head down. It reminded Becky of a forlorn dog, and she wanted to offer a kind smile or give him a big hug. But she couldn't; her hands were on the steering wheel.

"Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm driving us to Balthazar's house, okay?"

"Sure, okay." He looked out the right car window.

"And Dave?"

"…yeah?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Becky said hesitantly, "but you've got one messed up family."

To her great surprise, he shook his head and laughed.

"You have no idea, Becky."

* * *

That was the uncle, Cyril. I'm pretty sure Dave's family is beyond screw-able, but I'll be able to find a way to add on some more anguish, I'm sure. Thanks a lot, nanu107, for letting me use that line!

A.T.


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR:

The sky began to darken and at some point, tiny pinpricks of light shone in the black air. Becky wrinkled her nose as she continued to drive speedily. She knew that it was still Father's Day today, but when she had woken up from her fainting episode, it felt like an entirely different day. Becky shook her head. She was going to give up on the track of days.

"Do I make a left?" Becky asked. She already knew she had to, but she just wanted to make sure her sense of direction was correct. She didn't want to go all the way around to Balthazar's if she made a error in driving.

"Yeah," Dave said. He spoke in a flatly. Becky was tempted to look at him and see if anything was wrong, but remembered the chances of getting in a car accident if she did.

"Will Bennet be upset we took his car?" At this point, where Becky had learned about Dave's blood-drinking uncle, his sister, and his father (who possibly _murdered _his first daughter), she was still worried about a trivial matter such as this. It was completely insane. She shouldn't even care they took the car; she should be happy nothing dangerous happened at Dave's apartment when his uncle came.

Dave's voice was still a monotone. "He won't care. He can get a taxi, if he wants."

Becky frowned, creases across her forehead deepening. She had been feeling…grateful? She had been feeling _something _like that when she got herself into the driver's seat. Becky knew that she was human. Not like her boyfriend, as Cyril Stutler was so kind to point out. It had never occurred to her that she was incredibly lucky to be human. If she had Merlinian parents? Morganian ones? She bet that her family would have been just as ruined as Dave's. So it was a good thing she didn't have magic in her blood, or more accurately, mind. Becky couldn't imagine living like Dave did: going on weeks without hearing anything from family. It was pretty obvious he wasn't in touch with his surviving relatives.

"You don't like talking about your family," Becky said suddenly. She used a pleasant tone, even though the situation was anything but.

When he spoke, he did not sound wary. Just emotionless. "Yeah, that's clear."

"Your uncle," Becky said, "he mentioned some things at the apartment."

"He said a ton of things," Dave mumbled, voice still flat.

Becky quickly stomped on the brake, narrowly avoiding hitting the back of a Chevy. She released a sigh of relief.

Becky sat up straighter and saw the trickle of different colored cars in front of the Chevy. They weren't moving quickly, and when one car moved, there were only a few inches for the other car behind it to fill in. Becky leaned back in her seat, annoyed. Great. Traffic. That was _exactly _what she needed.

"We're not going to Balthazar's as soon as we thought," Becky said to him. She could look now, since they weren't moving. He kept his eyes glued to the road.

"Yeah."

"So let's talk," Becky said, feeling a tad irritated. She needed information from him. She hated intruding into his personal space and privacy, but she needed to know _something_.

"I don't want to talk."

"Dave. We have to talk," Becky said. "I know I'm ruining all your privacy. But…we need to talk. We have to. How confusing is this going to work out? Hmm? We don't even know what your dad wants to do when he gets out! How are we going to stop him if you don't tell me or Balthazar or Veronica anything?"

He didn't answer. He just sighed, and leaned back in the passenger seat.

"You don't wanna talk?" Becky said suddenly. "Fine. I'll talk about _my_ family, then."

"Becky-"

"My mom met my dad at college," Becky interrupted, beginning the story. "I always asked about their love life; I was a curious kid. My mother had the same major as him. They were both into art, and my mom fell for him instantly. They were college sweethearts. Their friends loved their relationship. Lots of them said my mom and dad looked good together. I would agree.

"They wanted to get married after they both graduated. My dad was the first to graduate, and he waited patiently for Mom. He got her a ring while he waited. He had some money leftover from college savings, which was a shock because the price of college is staggering. But he had some, and wanted to buy her a ring. They were love birds.

"He planned to propose to Mom under the beautiful sky of New York City. Unfortunately, it had begun to rain. He still proposed. It was a little clumsy, because he tried not to lose it to the rain. Mom laughed, but she was a hundred percent pleased. They were both twenty five.

"Mom gave birth to me months later. I was an easy baby, they said. Mom and Dad both loved me. I was kind of spoiled. I still have my old baby toys. Mom and Dad were pretty much in love. But they didn't realize that they made a big deal over nothing. It was like, one day they loved each other to the point of obsession, and the next, they didn't even want to see each other. They divorced when I was sixteen. Dad moved out, but I still kept some contact with him. My mother never remarried, but Dad had a steady girlfriend. She was okay, I guess, but I preferred him to be with my mother.

"He caught some disease. It was one I never bothered to learn about. I was convinced that if I did, I would know when he would…die. And I didn't want to know that. I visited him in the hospital, but it hurt seeing him on the bed. Lying there, all weak and fragile. Sometimes, if not always, I lied and said I had a lot of homework, or a project to work on.

"He died when he was forty. We went to the funeral. Mom's still around, but…I don't think it's truly enough. And Father's Day has always been my bad day." She finished, then let out a huge gust of air. That had been a lot.

"I don't want to say anything, okay?" Dave said. He was angry now. "Why is everyone so _intent_ on my family? Sorry about your dad and all, Becky, but I don't want to tell anyone about my business." He closed his eyes and began to hum. Becky felt herself flush, but she knew that her boyfriend was entitled to his privacy.

The trail of cars didn't move. Becky turned and saw that there were a bunch of vehicles behind them as well. It was going to be a long drive to Balthazar's.

"I'm going to call him," Becky said. "Is that all right with you?" She couldn't help saying these words a little sharply.

"Mmm," Dave said.

Becky took that for a yes.

* * *

Rachael lounged across the couch, her long legs spread over the thick armrests. Her head was laid against the right one. She had her eyes open and her ears alert. In the other room, she could hear the erupting noises that really resembled something like a firecracker. She tried to block out those sounds, but wanted to pay attention to the door. When was Cyril going to come back?

She heard little soft pats that could have been footsteps, but she would never be sure unless the noises in the other room ceased.

"_Levy!" _Rachael screamed. "Cut that _racket _out!"

There were a barrage of poundings against the wall, Rachael's cue to shut her mouth. She growled at the wall.

"When you're done, I'm kicking you out," Rachael murmured.

"How nice of you to treat Levyette that way."

Rachael shot up from the couch. She locked eyes with her uncle Cyril immediately. His white eyes traveled from hers to the wall that separated the living room from the other chamber.

"She's making too much noise," Rachael grumbled.

"Enough complaining," Cyril said silkily. "She's trying to get my brother out; of course she is making that much noise."

"Where is Dave?" Rachael asked, looking around him.

"He refused to come with me," Cyril answered. He took out the vial and his expression soured when he saw the little amount of liquid left; he simply shrugged and placed the leftover blood into his glass cup. He set the glass on the night stand next to the couch before throwing the vial into a bin.

"So why didn't you _make _him?" Rachael asked, irritated. "Haven't you noticed he only weighs about ninety pounds? Knock him out and take him back."

"Wouldn't that be a tad harsh?" Cyril asked. He tried not to smile, but Rachael could see he was amused. He lifted his glass and drank the contents within a minute. There was some on his bottom lip, and Rachael looked away. She couldn't help it. Blood made her stomach churn.

"Who cares?" She jammed her hands into her pockets. "I thought we needed the heirloom."

"We do, Rachael."

"So why didn't you bring him?" Rachael asked. "My father agreed to it as well. You should have just knocked the conscious out of him the first time you saw Dave."

"It would be all too easy, then," Cyril mused. "And where would the fun be?"

"It isn't about fun. He wants the heirloom now, not later," Rachael protested. Another loud bang came from the other room, causing her to jump.

"My impatient brother can wait," her uncle said calmly. "Now, our discussion is over. For now."

He walked over to the door that led to the room Levy was in. Rachael followed as he opened it and went through.

When Rachael had found Levy, she was at her breaking point. Rachael had pitied the girl years before, and felt a sharper stab of sympathy when Levy had looked up and her eyes had widened.

"I thought you were dead," she had whispered.

"You thought wrong," Rachael had corrected her. She had offered the girl a hand. "Get up, Levy. You're going to make sure I can hear my father."

Now, Levy appeared fresher and healthier than ever before. Cyril raised an eyebrow when he saw the transformation. Rachael crossed her arms and made a huffing noise. Levy stood in the middle of the pentagon. Her eyes widened again, just like when Rachael had found her. She was staring at Cyril this time.

"Mr. Cyril," she said, her full lips trembling. Whether she was shaking from joy or fear, Rachael had no idea.

"Levyette," Cyril greeted curtly. "Have you finished up here? Or are you still contacting the spirits?"

She flushed; a bright, pink color. "I haven't completed my assignment yet, sir. It takes time to speak with those imprisoned. Mr. Stutler is an especially difficult case."

"You spoke with him before," Rachael pointed out.

"Because I was fed before," Levy said, blushing again. Her eyes flickered back to Cyril, whose tongue licked his bottom lip, which was still stained with red. Levy's own tongue stuck out, desperate to get some for herself.

"You will feed again," Cyril said. "So do not worry. I would like to know when my brother will be freed. Damien is rather impatient."

"Dave wanted me to slow down the process," Rachael explained.

"And you said yes? Why, Rachael," Cyril said, his tone full of mock surprise, "you said yourself we needed the heirloom. You were dead set on me bringing your brother. And now, here you are, stalling our preparations. Care to explain?"

She glared at him, then snapped, "It doesn't matter if I do! We can't get him out because we don't have all the ingredients."

Cyril smiled back at her. "Find those ingredients."

"Find my brother," Rachael shot back.

"No fighting, please," Levy whispered, her voice as light as feathers.

"Levy? I would like to talk with Damien. Could you try once more?"

Levy looked down. "Okay. But I need you both to step back." She shut her eyes and chanted soft words under her breath. Cyril retreated with Rachael as Levy prepared herself. A large explosion of green and yellow works erupted from the pentagon. Levy rolled off the pentagon, on the floor. Rachael rushed to her to make sure she wasn't dead, and Cyril took her place in the pentagon.

"Damien," her uncle called fiercely. "How are you holding out?"

"Just fine," his brother said. He sounded incredibly sharp. "I'm dandy, considering the fact I have been stuck inside a box for years."

Cyril chuckled. "Haven't lost your sense of humor, I see."

"Of course not. Where is David?"

"He isn't here."

"Why is that? Haven't I told you I wanted him here?"

Cyril laughed again. "Not to worry, Damien. I will bring your boy soon."

"Why didn't you do that before, though?" his brother demanded. "Cyril?"

"There is no fun in that," Cyril said. "How funny it would be to see the human girl's face after she realizes she lost her boyfriend." He chuckled at the thought.

"Cyril." The dangerous tone of Damien brought him back to earth.

"I'll visit him again," he sighed. "Rachael still needs to find her ingredients before you can come out. We have the box, but it won't be of much use unless we have the other materials. Levyette is here as well."

"Yes, I know that," Damien said. He was impatient again. "But I need him here. He can't be alone. Levyette senses that he has Merlinians with him."

"Merlinian?" Cyril sounded shocked. "He isn't a Morganian? Why…I just that he wanted to make things difficult."

"Yes, he is a Merlinian," Levy's frail voice said. She was still on the floor, but she had propped herself up on one elbow.

"No one in the family has been a Merlinian for centuries," Damien hissed.

"Exactly," Rachael murmured. "This is why I wanted him here faster."

"Cyril," Damien snapped. "Bring him here. I need to speak to him. And Rachael! Find the items required and take me out of this prison."

"I will," Rachael said, rubbing her temples. "Uncle, get out of here and get my brother."

"Will do," Cyril laughed. Immediately, Damien's voice was gone.

* * *

I hate myself for making this chapter short!

A.T.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Chapter five. So far, everyone but Veronica, Becky, Dave, and Balthazar belong to me. No stealing. Thank you.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE:

"Becky? Would you care for anything?" Veronica asked.

Becky looked up from the literature textbook she had placed on her lap. Veronica set down a tray of tea on the coffee table and offered something for Balthazar. He thanked her gruffly as he picked up a cup, and went back to studying the Incantus's pages.

Becky shook her head. "Thanks for asking, Veronica, but I'd rather not."

Veronica nodded and resumed her spot on a chair next to Balthazar's. She was intently concentrating on the pages as well. Becky rubbed her eyes and skimmed across the biography of a writer. She didn't pay attention to any of it, really, even though she had an extra credit assignment on literacy. Becky yawned, and her thoughts skipped to Dave. When they arrived, they went to sit on the couch and reveal details about Cyril's visit. Actually, Becky had done the most talking, if not all. Dave had remained quietly by her side, staring at the intricate pattern of the carpet. Becky wished he would speak up. It was completely insane and foolish not to tell anyone about his family. Okay, it was his private life, but _still_. What if they threatened someone? Or had some kind of evil plan to ruin New York City? She knew Morganians had to have something up their sleeves; her encounter with Horvath taught her that. She had asked Balthazar how Dave's family would react when they learned Morgana had been killed: and by their own blood relative. Balthazar had no answer.

"But what if they realize Dave's the Prime Merlinian?" Becky asked, her entire frame shaking.

Veronica had soothed her and Balthazar had been silent. He had no answer for that either.

Balthazar did think that they needed to stay at his home while they figured out the family problem. He believed that Becky could be attacked, or Dave would be confronted.

Becky had agreed for the both of them. After they drank the tea Veronica kindly offered, Dave asked permission to go up into one of the guest rooms. Veronica granted him entry and them turned to Balthazar. They had been going over the Incantus ever since. Becky had just stayed on the couch, reading the textbook.

They had not found any information on Modessa or Charlotte.

She wondered what Dave was up to. No sound came from the guest rooms. Becky placed the textbook on the couch and walked away from the living room. Balthazar and Veronica didn't seem to notice.

"I'm going to check on Dave," she mumbled anyways.

The stairs led up to a second floor. On this floor was the bathroom and the guest rooms. Becky hadn't been here a lot of times, but just enough to know where to go. She checked the rooms, and found Dave in the second guest room.

He was on the bed, sleeping. His eyes were shut and he was frowning. Becky tiptoed to a leather chair that was in front of the desk. She sat in it quietly, watching him in slumber. She swiveled around in the chair for some time. A computer and stocked printer were on the wooden desk. Becky stole a sheet of computer paper from the printer and laid it out on the desk. She found a pen in the cup of writing utensils. Becky didn't know what to do. She randomly started to write out the names of Dave's family.

_Damien Stutler, Gwen Stutler, Dave Stutler, Rachael Stutler, Cyril Stutler._

Becky stared at them. What now? She shrugged to herself and drew stick figures. When she was done, Becky leaned back to survey her masterpiece. She snorted to herself, but felt glad she had found something funny in this situation. Her smile slipped away when she saw what she had drawn.

It was a picture of five stick figures, their lines-for-hands connected with each other. Above them were the names of the family members. Becky felt an odd lump in her throat. This was not her family. It was Dave's. All of his problems. Becky's father was gone. She had gotten the easy way out.

What was Dave's father like? What was his family like in general? Becky never knew about his life at home. She knew hers was not perfect. But it was quick. There were no arguments. No thrown plates, zero tears. Their love was over within the blink of an eye. Dave's family was completely unstable, the exact opposite. But did Damien Stutler love Dave's mother? If he didn't, why on earth would he marry her? Dave's entire family, so far, disapproved of her for being human. She was convinced Damien would hate her too. That was ironic.

Becky drummed her fingers on the table, then decided to switch on the computer. She had no idea what she was looking for. Then an idea popped up in her head.

Damien Stutler was what she wrote in the Google search engine. She felt a silver of hope slither around her head; maybe, if she got lucky, there would be something granted there. There were only Facebook profiles and companies listed under the name Damien. Becky sighed, stroked across the keys to close the windows, and shut down the computer. She looked back at the paper and felt another brush of pain inside of her.

Becky glanced at Dave, who was still sleeping peacefully. She was glad; at least he could escape his problems for a few minutes. She walked out of the room without shutting the door, and bounded softly down the steps. She found Veronica and Balthazar, still scanning the Incantus.

"Veronica?" Becky asked. She felt a little uncertain about this, but she was sure she'd be much more comfortable with her than Balthazar.

"Yes?" Veronica looked up at her.

"C…" Becky swiftly peeked at the coffee table, which was removed of the tray. "Could I have some tea now?" She flashed an apologetic smile.

"Of course." She got up and led Becky to their kitchen. There was a door that shut the kitchen off from the living room. Becky closed this door. It shut with a soft click. Becky moved towards the counter and sat down in a stool while she watched Veronica make a pot of tea.

"Veronica?" Becky asked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

She panicked. "Do you need any help?"

"No, I've got it."

Becky looked down at the bottom of the floor. She sucked in some air and swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. The kitchen was comfortable, and the sounds of clinking silverware and tea being made straightened out her thoughts. She adjusted herself on the stool.

"Er, Veronica?"

"Yes?" Becky was thankful Veronica was patient. Anyone else might have gotten irritated for her shyness right now.

"Thanks for helping Dave and I."

"It's no trouble at all, dear," Veronica said, her back facing Becky as she prepared the tea. "We feel obliged to protect you. You're like a daughter to me."

Becky smiled, then went on to ask, "Do you mind me being human?"

"I don't mind at all," was the other woman's reply. "I never really understood what was the matter with these other sorcerers and sorceresses. Humans, Merlinians, and Morganians are all the same, so to speak. We _are _humans, but with more capability to _use _magic. We magic-users look exactly like you; we have emotions and react just the same. Why is it that some of us have prejudices against the humans?" She seemed to mull over her own question.

"Veronica," Becky said, "Dave's family despises me."

"I wouldn't say despise…" But Becky could see Veronica was trying to avoid her feelings getting hurt. Becky knew how her boyfriend's family felt about her.

"_I_ would," Becky said. She blinked, her lashes moving like a butterfly's lightweight wings. "I've met his uncle Cyril. He really dislikes me, and I'm positive it's about me being human."

"Oh, Becky, he's one of those prejudiced people," Veronica said, turning to her. Her expression was a sweet one. Becky didn't need her assurance. She knew exactly what those family members thought about her.

"Am I right for him?" she suddenly said out loud. Her cheeks flushed an ugly tomato-red.

Veronica scowled as she blew on the pot of newly made tea. The foggy cloud of steam flew out of the teapot slowly. "Becky," she said in a serious tone, "you know how Dave adores you. Do you love him back?"

"Yeah! A hundred percent!" she exclaimed.

"You're a nice girl. Dave's a nice boy. You two are so wonderful together, despite being different. And even then, you fit all too well. Don't let another's opinion ruin anything you have, Becky."

"Thank you…" She pondered over those words, and knew deep down it was true. They did fit, like perfect pieces of an unfinished puzzle. But it was like a fresh wound, knowing the blood relatives of your boyfriend hated your guts. Cyril, Rachael, and perhaps even his father. She hadn't seen or heard him, however, the family personalities seemed strong enough for a third member.

"Do you know anything about anyone yet?" Becky asked. Veronica poured tea into a china cup and slid it across the counter. Becky's hands molded around the cup, and she lifted it to her lips.

"Nothing on Modessa, I'm afraid," Veronica said. "I never knew what happened to her… This Cyril Stutler you speak of, he appears to be a blood-drinker, according to your description; but he isn't a vampire."

Becky's eyes lit up. "They exist?"

"Of course." Veronica chuckled. "I remember seeing something called a gossip channel on the television. It spoke of a book portrayed as a film. It's been quite controversial, especially since these vampires _shimmer._"

"How about Charlotte Markov?"

"Ah, her. We haven't got a lot of information on the author. She's limited on those…websites? Yes, that was the term. But Balthazar has ordered her book on the computer. It is expected on Saturday."

"What about the box of sand?" Becky inquired.

"It could be an essential object Dave's father is being kept in," Veronica said. "And we have not seen any unordinary activity, so he hasn't been released yet. Perhaps Rachael _has_ been keeping her promise."

Rachael never promised anything. But she was indeed slowing down the process, like Dave requested. Becky finished her tea quickly, then thanked Veronica.

"It was no trouble." Veronica left the kitchen to go back to the living room.

Becky washed her cup, dried her hands, and walked up the stairs back into the guest room. She slipped in through the unclosed door and inched along the floor to the bed. Dave stirred, but didn't wake up. Becky delicately touched his hair. She let her fingers hover since he didn't move. Then she slowly backed away. _He's here. He's not going anywhere, _she thought. _Let him sleep. _Becky turned on her heels and was halfway through the door when she heard his soft voice.

"Becky?" He spoke lightly, like thin threads of spider silk swaying in the wind.

She looked over her shoulder. Dave was still in the bed, but his head was resting against the pillow. He was staring at her through half-closed lids. His hands were on his stomach.

"Dave?" she called quietly. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's okay," he whispered.

"Go back to sleep," she urged him.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "I want to be awake. I want to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Becky asked warily. She took a step forward. "Dave? Are you all right?"

He ignored her. "Did you know my father tried to kill my mother?"

Becky was taken aback at his offhand tone. "I-I did know. You said it right in front of me and your uncle."

"He said he loved her," Dave breathed, his eyes widening. He looked like an innocent child telling a story to which he knew no ending to. "He said she was only human, when she made mistakes."

"I…" How did one respond to something as insane as this?

Dave continued. "He got so tired of her. He couldn't keep up his façade. He was the great husband, hard worker, the one who had extra time to play with his kids. That wasn't him. It was something, _someone _he had to be. He couldn't show his true self out in plain daylight."

His father, Becky realized. He was speaking about his father. Her mind absorbed the details, even though she tried to reject them. They were unwanted in her head.

"She had no idea what was coming her way," Dave said, a certain, eerie light shining in his brown eyes. "She thought she was careful, and that he wouldn't go to such extremes. She thought she was an exception to his crazed, murderous lifestyle."

Becky remembered that when she was thirteen, she and her friends snuck into a rated R movie. The commercials that advertised a mysterious, cold-blooded killer that slaughtered anyone who came across him. Becky didn't really like scary movies, but she couldn't help but be attracted to this film. It didn't look like it had a ton of gore, based on the commercials, but when she slipped inside the theater with her friends, and the movie started to show, Becky was horrified. The film was definitely a frightening one, and it was all the more scary because every single event led up to the unhappy ending. Becky recalled being unable to sleep for days.

The way Dave talked made her realize he was going to say exactly _how _his father attempted to kill Gwen Stutler.

Becky released a sharp breath. "Stop it, Dave."

His eyes shined brighter. "But don't you want to know, Becky? You were begging me before."

"I don't want to know about this," she said, swallowing.

"Yes, you do," Dave insisted. He sat up in the bed. "You do want to know. So here it is. I was little. I was nine. I walked in during the night, into the¾"

Nostrils flaring, Becky spat, "Stop right there."

"But you wanted to know!" he protested.

"What is wrong with you? You're acting like this is not a big deal!" Why was he so cold, so stoic while describing this hideous memory?

Dave's eyes glittered. "It's not that big of a deal. Calm down. I just wanted to share a little bit of myself with you." His voice was toned down to a whimper. A lonesome dog knowing he had done something wrong, and held his head in shame.

"Don't talk that way," Becky said, her lips quivering. "I-I want you to tell me. I do. But not this way. Not when you're so…_distant._"

Becky unconsciously stepped away from him.

Dave moaned, then his head hit the pillow. His eyes were shut and his breathing was slow. He was asleep again.

"Dave?" she called tentatively.

But he was fast asleep, just like he was before. Becky suddenly felt cold. She shut the door and ran out of the room, stumbling down the steps. She went into the bathroom and locked the door. She tried to calm herself down.

"It's no big deal," she repeated to herself. "No big deal. Calm down."

And then she remembered those were the words Dave used.

* * *

Dave sat on the couch, avoiding anyone's eyes. He had hated the drive here, and despised the fact Becky was talking about his uncle's visit. Yes, they deserved to know, and yes, they might in fact endanger someone's life, Becky's especially. But he felt so embarrassed, his private life being trashed around and thrown in front of people he trusted. He was the Prime Merlinian. He was supposed to protect, help, and stay on the good side. And here was Becky, spilling everything about his _Morganian_ family. He had never felt so ashamed. How was Balthazar looking at him? Veronica? How did his master feel, now learning his apprentice had a whole loft of Morganian nut jobs? Dave kept his eyes on the carpet. It had a difficult pattern of red diamonds, black fuzzy lines, and plaid designs. He tried to memorize the carpet's colors and patterns. It did not take his mind off the problem.

Dave wanted to sink into the floor when Becky asked how his relatives would react when they learned of Morgana's death. He tuned everything out right then, wishing he had done so earlier. But he could still hear. Fortunately for him, Balthazar had no answer to that.

Dave didn't want to stick around with the people he kept close with. They shouldn't have to learn of his sick family members. What bad people they were. He had excused himself, first asking for permission to go to one of the guest rooms upstairs. He was allowed to go.

Becky didn't follow. That was good. He couldn't stand it; his human girlfriend perfectly vulnerable to his deranged uncle and sister. He felt a rush of gratitude while walking up the stairs. Balthazar and Veronica were nice enough to let them stay while they figured this entire mess out.

Dave slipped into a guest room and sank to the bed. He felt the flimsy material of the blanket and soft, silky feel of the pillows. They comforted him. Dave stared at the ceiling while attempting to go to sleep. He could hear soft pitter-patter downstairs. That meant they were moving around.

Dave fell into unconsciousness. However, he was immediately greeted by a dark dream.

_Dave walked right through the thick masses of crunched leaves. He stomped on them for a few minutes, before going to find Rachael. She was probably hiding behind the big oak tree in their yard. Or maybe she was stuck in those fat rose bushes again. He smiled at the thought of it._

_He wandered over to the ancient swing set, the one that was built for Rachael, yet she never used it more than twice. He sat down on the swing and gave himself a little push. While he swung, he called his sister's name softly._

"_Ray!" he shouted. "Rachael! Where are you?"_

_He heard the rustle of leaves. Dave saw a thick head of auburn hair flash. He still continued to swing, though. It's not like Rachael could hide forever._

_Eventually, she came over to sit on the other swing. Instead of pushing herself forward and back, she simply sat still. Dave bristled. He would have cut half of his hair off for a swing set like this._

"_Mom is really mad," Dave told her. She nodded._

_When her mouth opened, she didn't look at him. "She's always angry. That's nothing new, right?"_

_Dave personally disagreed, but didn't want to start an argument._

"_What does Dad say?" Rachael asked him._

"_About what?"_

"_About me going to boarding school, dummy," she retorted, angrily flicking a red-brown bang away from her eyes._

_He, again, was offended. "You don't have to call me names," he mumbled. "I don't know what he says. Mom just got mad, and he started telling her stuff. I didn't stick around."_

"_Nice, Dave," Rachael sniffed._

_He stopped swinging. "That was your fault! You were the one who brought up the boarding school thing. Why do you want to go anyways?"_

_She lifted and dropped her shoulders. "I dunno. I just want to."_

"_Mom has a problem with it," Dave noted._

"_It's no of her beeswax," Rachael snapped. "Dad's gonna let me go to the school. She's got no say in it."_

_Dave watched her get up from the swing and flounce off in the direction of the house. He just stayed on the swing._

Somewhere in his mind, the little bit of subconscious that is always there when people dream, yet completely undetected; this was where Dave remembered the aftermath of the argument, and the true meaning behind it. When he got back into the house, everything was back to normal. Now that he was older, a sorcerer, and he knew about his life, he also knew what Rachael meant by boarding school. It had been a code for apprenticeship, and his mother refused to let her go train out of the country. Dave was much too young to understand. His father tried so many times to tell him, put in a small clue, but then his mother would cut in and end whatever Dave was about to grasp. It was a continuing pattern back then. Try to tell him something, Mom comes in, stops him. Dave had gotten pretty sick of it, so he ignored his father when he said, "Hey, kiddo (insert any cryptic message or saying here)…"

He wandered in his mind. He wanted to dream about Becky, telling him that everything was solved, and his family was gone. She would smile at him and pat his arm, then he would get up the courage to embrace her. She would surely hug him back, and scold him about the information he had been holding back. Dave would blush, of course, like he always did. He would then awkwardly look back, right into her eyes.

"Sorry," he'd say. "I'm honestly, really sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? What kind of a person _asks _that?" Dave suddenly felt his arms around the emptiness. They fell, his palms stinging. He looked straight ahead and saw that Becky, the girl of his dreams, was slowly morphing. She continued to speak. She continued to pelt horrible words at him.

"You think I'll give you forgiveness?" Becky cried. "That easy? Like it's some sort of cheap wine?" Becky's wavy blond hair turned darker as she spoke; brown and straight as razors. Her soft blue eyes slowly darkened to green, and her pale peach skin changed to chalky white. Her frame shrunk. She was as small as a pixie now, extremely thin; skinnier than before. There was a slight spray of freckles over her face.

He knew who this was. Dave opened his mouth to speak, but the words that flowed out did not sound like him. They were spoken in another's voice.

"You know how it is, Clarice." Urgent, needy.

"No," the younger woman said angrily. She took a step back. "No, I don't know how it is."

Dave knew this tiny girl. But that was not her name.

"Try to understand," Dave said, in a voice that was not his own. Whoever was speaking sounded clearly desperate. "I am what I am. I can't be anything other than what I am _now_."

A sharp, cutting laugh. "What are you now, James? A philosopher?" She laughed again, with the same painful edge. "That's right," she said, shaking her head in mock amusement. "You aren't James. That's not even you're real name." She turned around.

"Clarice!" he shouted after her.

"Don't," the girl called, not looking back. "Just don't." She walked away, leaving him alone.

_Yeah, and what exactly was the point of this little show? _Dave asked bitterly.

_The point? The point, David, was to inform you how things go awfully wrong when not truthful._

_Spare me, Uncle Cyril. You've lied pretty much all your life. _Dave smugly experienced a moment of victory.

After the pause, his uncle directed back, _So? The matter at hand is that Damien needs you. _

_A family reunion? No thanks._

_It's not a choice. Then, maybe, just _maybe_, you can go._

_Go? Are you kidding me? _Dave fumed mentally.

_Afraid not._

_Do you seriously think I'm convinced right now? That if I come to this petty reunion, I can go back to my life?_

_Maybe. If Damien's pleased enough. He might keep in touch. Who knows? He could be the nice one, or perhaps he'll smite your girlfriend and leave me with her rotting corpse._

_You're not convincing me, _Dave retorted flatly. His insides burned at the horrible thought of Becky dead. But if he wasn't careful, everything would erupt.

_Everyone is here, _Cyril noted. _My brother, your sister. Although I suppose he doesn't count yet, he's still stuck in that box._

_Sounds like a party, _Dave thought back sarcastically. He could feel the internal threads pull, becoming so taut they would snap soon enough. That was his uncle's anger. He had to tread carefully.

_The pretty Miss Levyette is here as well. You remember her, don't you?_

Of course he remembered. Her delicate heart-shaped face, her full lips, and how sleek and new she looked under the moonlight. Of course he remembered. Dave could never forget someone like Levy.

_Except you did. I've been roaming your mind while you were asleep. It seems as if you've lost all your interest for her._

_I had other things in mind, _he protested. But he dropped his head in guilt. It was true. There was no excuse. He forget her. He broke his promise.

_You've rudely ignored her, nephew. Does your blond girl know? What was her name? I think I don't know…_

_What are you talking about?_

_I decided that she should know about you. You're mates, correct? And mates tell each other their secrets. I'm sure the blond, oh, her name is Becky__¾__I'm sure Becky would enjoy learning about Miss Levyette._

_No! What are you doing?_

_Right now, she'll be needing to know about your mother. I thought it would be harder to control the mind while doing two separate things. It's quite easy, actually, so that surprises me._

_Get out of my head! _

He reacted mentally. He was not awake, not really. But he made sure his mind slash against the barrier of Cyril's mind. He wanted to hit, to _hurt_. He heard his uncle gasp at the pain. Dave was a little daunted. He didn't actually believe he could damage his more advanced uncle's internal shield. Dave didn't even think he could land one scratch.

He felt his body jerk, then collapse back on to the pillows. He was free from Cyril's spell. But how would Becky react when he truly awoke? How could he tell her Cyril's ability when it was so harmful?

_You ought to keep that to yourself, nephew, _his uncle snarled, mental shield slowly recoiling. _It wouldn't be so pretty for your girl if you didn't. And remember this: an hour. You have an hour before I come to get you._

The barrier dropped suddenly. Dave never had tried to push the shield before; so he wasn't prepared for the aftermath. His own wall jumped forward to occupy the space his uncle had left.

He had no energy to get up. He was sleeping into the second skin of unconsciousness now. Dave realized it was no use struggling against it. He had to embrace the darkness rushing forward to greet him. When he got up, he would go directly down those stairs and tell Becky what happened. He would lie and say that he had some dream, some idiotic push to tell her all those things. He _had _seen his father trying to kill his mother, but Dave was positive Becky would not want those gory details. He would go to Balthazar and Veronica; tell them he had to get out of here. That he couldn't take it. He would leave them then, run away. They would try to stop him of course.

But he knew where he had to be. And he would do everything in his power to get to that destination.

* * *

From now on, I'm signing off as TracedScars, but I can't honestly see how that's relevant to anything. I'm offering a cookie for those who can guess the book Veronica was talking about, the one that caused controversy. Heh, I could not help but throw that in! All right, I'm leaving you right here till the next chapter!

**-TracedScars**


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Thanks for all the patience, guys! Oh, and in this chapter, I finally came up with a proper term. Cruor means spilled blood in Latin, but I got that off of some website. Blame them for giving me the wrong answer, if it is indeed wrong. Happy reading!

* * *

CHAPTER SIX:

"All right," Veronica said, her voice strong and firm. She put the thick book down on the coffee table, and Becky was surprised to see it didn't break under all the pressure. "Balthazar and I have found some interesting facts in the Incantus."

Becky felt waves of relief. She leaned in eagerly to get a better look at the page in the Incantus. "Is this the right page?" Dave, who had come down a little bit earlier, shifted his weight on the couch, but didn't move in like her. He didn't appear to be so curious, like Becky was. She ignored this behavior. _It's because he already knows everything about his family, _Becky told herself inside her head. _And you don't. It makes sense._

"This is the correct page," Balthazar confirmed. "Take a closer look at it. We've already read what's there." Becky reached out for the Incantus with two hands, and pulled the massive book towards her lap. She heaved with all her strength, briefly wondering if anyone in the room had insurance, if the thing collapsed on her. Dave turned his head away from the large book. He devoted himself to watching the wooden door of the kitchen instead. Becky stared at his back, hoping to bore a hole into it. Then she redirected her attention to the page on the Incantus.

There was a picture that took up half the rusty, old page. It looked a thousand years old, drawn exactly like pictures were drawn in the medieval times. It portrayed a young girl in a light green dress. She had long brown hair that covered most of her face. Becky could see that her head was limp, and her eyes were almost closed. She was drawn as weak in the picture. A man was holding her, dressed in a black cloak and gray tunic. His tongue stuck out, licking the gash at the girl's forehead. Becky felt a little sick. She looked at Veronica.

"He's…licking her forehead," Becky struggled to say, her stomach churning unequivocally.

She nodded grimly. "He's taking her blood."

Becky's eyes darted across the picture again. She had read some vampire books, and in most of them, the vamps were usually described as good-looking. The man looked pretty average to him. The girl did too.

"These drinkers took anyone," Balthazar explained to her. Becky fingered the page as he spoke. "Women, men, children."

"What about animals?" asked Becky. She couldn't imagine these blood-drinkers taking their food from even animals. People, perhaps. But not animals. The few vampire books she read claimed their vampires sometimes drank blood. Those books were purely fiction, though.

"Animals, no," Veronica answered. "They believed the pure kind of drink came from the humans."

"Read the page," Dave mumbled to her. She jumped when she heard his voice; then she felt gratified. She hadn't heard him speak in so long. When he came down from the guest room, Becky was wary. He said he didn't know anything about her coming in the room, and he only had a bad dream. Becky agreed to this swiftly. Look at his family, she had reasoned with herself. Why wouldn't he have a bad dream? The explanation made sense, and Becky had easily accepted it, felt satisfied.

She did as he said, and looked down at the page . She bit her lip when she saw the first sentence under the stomach-turning picture. _Unwanted food and drink are common for the Cruor people. The Cruor take nourishment from the Merlinians, Morganians, and regular beings. Their bodies provide the pure substance the Cruor need. Without the red blood, they will not have their ability; then they shall weaken and die. Cruor people often mate with humans, the only ones who can carry their offspring._

Becky swallowed something in her throat, and then tried to speak in a clear voice. "So…um, these blood-"

"Cruor," Balthazar corrected in a steely voice.

"Er, right, the Cruor," Becky said. "So, these Cruor people take the blood from people, and if they don't have any, they'll die?"

"Lose their ability first, and _then_ they die," Balthazar corrected once again.

Becky glanced back at the page. "Have you ever seen a Cruor person?"

"We've never encountered the Cruor before," Balthazar replied. "Not a single one. They are a secretive group. Any documentation of the Cruor must have been destroyed or kept, because that paragraph is the only one in the Incantus. It doesn't provide enough information; I can only begin to imagine how these Cruor kept to themselves."

"How come no one could find them?" Becky asked, her eyebrows lifting. "I mean, what if someone important went missing because of the Cruor? Wouldn't anyone notice?"

"Like we said, we don't know much about them," Balthazar said. He got up and Becky made room for him on the couch. He sat next to her and pointed to the picture of the man in the cloak. "I believe that the Cruor drank from peasants and children. It says that they need pure blood, and I don't actually take it that the elderly provided that healthy blood. Drinking from royals or aristocrats _would _attract attention; the Cruor couldn't possibly be idiotic, since they haven't been discovered for many years. So the Cruor didn't touch the blood of noblemen. They went right for the common folks."

Becky was still staring at the page. "But Balthazar, how could the human woman keep their babies in the womb? Did they even survive… Oh, wait. Not enough information. Got it."

"We might never know," Veronica said. "Unless that Cyril decides to tell us anything."

"Dave? Do you know anything about the Cruor?" Becky said, finally taking her eyes off the page. She looked right at him. He had turned around now, and was looking at her too. His eyes were wide.

"No," he said. "But my uncle has a wife. He married somebody's sister, and I think she's human. Although, there aren't any kids."

"What about the ability?" Becky ventured. She traced a circle with her finger around the word ability in the Incantus.

"Again, no information," Balthazar said, his expression cold. "It would be nice to have access to any kind of data. The Cruor couldn't be detected so easily."

"My uncle can do things," Dave murmured. Three pairs of curious, suspicious eyes met his. He blushed immediately.

"What sort of things, David?" Veronica asked sternly, her arms crossing in front of her.

The blush raged on fiercely. "I don't know _specifically,_ but it has to do something with persuasion. He says…certain words and the person does whatever he wants."

Balthazar was silent for a moment. But not in the way that one would use as time for thinking matters out, for planning. Becky saw that Balthazar was staring at Dave in disbelief. His eyes were average, but his expression was different. It was like _you're kidding, right? _Becky was so focused on how Balthazar was feeling and looking at the moment, she didn't really notice how she felt. She certainly was numb from learning this. It was scary now. Knowing that you would have to obey a man who drunk blood (and apparently held no sorrows or regrets about it) and couldn't resist the order.

"It's not strong enough," Dave said. He barely whispered. "So don't worry. He needs a lot of blood…"

"He can't accomplish it without blood, Balthazar," Veronica reminded him. She looped her arm around his and tried to soothe him, although he wasn't angry. He was in shock…or something like that.

"But who knows how much he has already?" Balthazar fumed. "He could be a menace to the people!"

"Leave him be," Veronica snapped, her voice going up an octave. "Think of how he feels, you criticizing his uncle like that."

Becky just realized Veronica was talking about Dave. Balthazar tucked his chin.

"It's not something we can ignore," Balthazar said steadily. "We have exactly three people out on the loose, and one of them is a Cruor. Dave? What about your sister?"

"What about her?" he challenged.

Balthazar was patient. "I meant, is she like your uncle?"

"No," Dave said, scowling at the intricate carpet. "She's an average Morganian. So is my father. I don't believe he is a Cruor."

Becky shoved the Incantus off her lap and on to the coffee table. The noise made everyone look at her. "Look, Dave," she said, releasing a sharp breath. "I'm not happy about this. Neither are you. No one's happy, if truth be told. But what's the good of avoiding the matter at hand?" Dave didn't answer, and Becky was glad since that was a rhetorical question. Balthazar and Veronica didn't interrupt, so she decided to carry on.

"There's your uncle, a Cruor. Your sister Rachael, who's just a Morganian, like your father. Would you, I don't know, _object _to the idea of them being hurt in any way? Or detained? Because that's something Balthazar and Veronica are gonna have to do. We would leave your family alone if they left _you _alone, but that's not going to happen.

"Not only that, they are Morganians. I don't think they're too keen on the idea of you spending time with Merlinians. We're going to have to do something because they're honestly posing some sort of threat, especially your uncle; a Cruor taking blood from a human is not a good idea. Could you please tell us whether or not they would be willing to stay in their place?"

She waited for his response. She felt pleased she had made her point and nobody attempted to disrupt her, but something told her saying all those things about his family would cost a price. Dave's blush had faded over the time of her tiny speech. He was pale now, much more whiter than before. He was staring at the clock next to the television now, growing much more apprehensive as the numbers turned larger. Becky could feel some sort of fright and anxiety roll off him in waves, then rush up to greet her own body. She started to feel scared as well, but only because she could get the vibe off from Dave. Why was he looking at the clock? Did it make a difference if he knew the time? And why was he fearful all of a sudden? She hadn't felt this strong of a fear from him in all the while they confronted his family issue. Balthazar noticed this and watched the minutes pass by, evidence of time moving forward on the clock. Veronica's eyebrows knit together. She was confused as well.

"Dave? Is there something you had scheduled today?" Veronica inquired gently. He was snapped out of whatever reverie or hypnosis he had been in previously. Dave turned away from the clock. Becky saw the time. It was 11: 50. Where did Dave have to be? Becky forgot about the fear and remembered her suspicion.

"No." But he rose from the couch and inched towards the door.

"Hold on for a second, Dave." Balthazar got up too. Becky tensed. She hoped a fight wouldn't break out. "Tell me where you have to go." There was some reinforcement in the end of his words.

"Out," was Dave's simple reply.

"Your family," Becky said, something new rising in her. "Your family; you want to go out while they're out there? What if they-"

"I _have _to get out of here. I can't take it." He spoke with such urgency, instead of the anger Becky believed he had. Dave went right past the coat rack, thrust the door open, and sped right out. Just like that.

And nobody bothered to stop him.

"Dave!" she shouted after him. "Hold it, wait!"

She nearly tripped as she ran after him. Becky hurried through the cold winds that slapped her face and made her hair dance. He had no idea where her boyfriend was running to. She felt a little guilty about putting him on spot back there. She would have to apologize, although it wasn't that big of a deal.

"Dave!" she screamed again.

"Go away, Becky!" he yelled over his shoulder. The darkness made it hard to see him clearly. "I can't come back right now!"

"Dave!"

They were running across the sidewalk, and to the big open field. Becky remembered going here with her parents during the summers, when they would sit down and have a picnic, or buy her an ice cream cone. The memories came back and took over her head. She stopped running after him and felt sharp jabs as she saw her parents' smiling faces. Those were the old times. They didn't love each other anymore.

The night and the stars that shone reminded her why she was out here in the first place. The wide open land of green was empty of anyone except for herself and Dave. He had paused as well, and was in the middle of the field already. She took advantage of the moment and ran towards him like a insane person. Why did he stop? Why didn't he keep running away from her?

Becky dashed across the thin strands of grass. She didn't loose her footing or train of thought while she moved swiftly to him. Dave was still standing, his back turned to her. There were only a few feet setting them apart. Becky launched herself with such a force; she needed to seal the space between them. She hated the vulnerability of having Dave outside, in this large field, while the dark night sky was overhead. His family could be here. Anyone could attack at any given moment. They were like sitting ducks.

She closed the distance between her and him. She felt prideful, a tad smug. But there was no desire to gloat. She only liked it, knowing she had gotten to him first.

Becky realized how cold she was as she came to stand next to him. Dave wasn't moving. He stood still, his back erect. Becky wrapped her arms around her in an attempt to avoid the cold air. She felt her hair move lightly because of the wind. She was looking ahead, just like him. But she couldn't see a single thing in the field.

"What's going on here?" Becky demanded. Her voice was desperate, urgent like his was moments before. She felt even more vulnerable now. "Dave, why did you run away?"

She looked up at him with a weak glare on her face. His eyes were wide and in awe. He was staring straight ahead.

Becky wanted to see what he was looking at. She blinked as something moved. Whoever or whatever was far away from them. It was just a blob of light from Becky's perspective. But she felt new chills run down her spine because she felt some kind of danger. Another danger.

"Dave?" Becky asked tentatively. "What…is that?"

"Levy," he breathed.

Levy?

"What is a _Levy?_" Becky hissed. He finally looked down at her. His eyes were fully surprised at her outburst. Becky was too. She had gotten a sudden thrill of anger. Perhaps it was from her not knowing enough, or that vulnerability. The thrill was gone. She was alone with him in fear. Except that she wasn't exactly alone. There was a Levy.

"Levy is a Cruor," Dave whispered to her, his lips moving incredibly fast. Becky kept staring at the thin mass of silver. It was a person, but didn't look like so. How much longer till it finally came to them?

"Shouldn't we run?" Becky asked.

"No," he said firmly. "Let her come. I…I can speak to her."

"Dave. She's a Cruor-" Something dawned on her.

"I know her, yes," Dave said before she could grasp everything quickly. "And she is definitely a Cruor. Please, just let me talk with her. Don't say a word, okay?"

Not okay. No, it was _not _okay.

"Becky, please," Dave begged.

She opened her mouth. "Fine," she agreed in a hard voice. "But if she says something, I'm saying something back." She closed her mouth, setting her lips in a tight line.

"Okay."

The girl was now a foot away. Becky could see how young and beautiful the girl looked. She had a blond bob that was very straight. Her eye color was hard to tell. It looked just like a black pool of deep water. Becky guessed it was some type of blue. The girl was small, a few inches shorter than Becky. She had a button nose and incredibly pale skin. Even though it was freezing outside, she only had on jeans, black boots, and a white tank top that was covered mostly by a white shawl. She had a miserable sort of look about her. Becky didn't feel threatened…but something told her to stay on her guard. She didn't need another person from Dave's past.

"Hey," the girl whispered. Becky noticed too late that she meant it as a greeting. A twitch in her eye occurred when she realized it was only for Dave.

"Hi, Levy," Dave whispered back hesitantly. "Is my uncle here?"

"I was sent here," she said. Levy then flinched. "I-I didn't want to come, but…"

"It's okay," Dave said immediately. "I know."

She looked uncomfortable now. "Cyril and Rachael say you have to come home. Or come wherever they're staying at."

"I know that," he sighed. "I can't come. And I don't want to. They can start the party without me."

"They want you to come," Levy repeated, enunciating each word clearly. "I don't have any choice. I had to come and…"

"I know," Dave said yet again.

"Who is she?" Levy asked all of a sudden. She stared at Becky, blinking furiously. Becky flinched at the instant venom in the girl's tone. Dave did too.

"This is my… She's my girlfriend," Dave said reluctantly. Becky carefully watched Levy's face. "We're going out."

"So you two are a pair?" Her breath smelled like coffee, but Becky doubted Levy had stopped at Starbucks on her way before.

Dave exhaled slowly. "Yes."

She took a step back. Her eyes were filled with worry and hurt. Becky felt a small ounce of sympathy for the girl. Levy was someone who had been damaged before, in some way. You could tell by her stance and her face. She was so uncomfortable and nervous. She had been forced to come here. She was a nervous wreck. And she seemed so hurt by Dave's answer. The angered poison in Levy's tone was gone.

"You never remembered me, then?" she cried. It sounded like the melody of a wind chime. "Y-You never thought about me?"

Dave didn't say anything.

"That was the day you said goodbye," Levy said, looking at a trampled flower on the ground. "When you left me all alone. On a mountain," she added. Her features twisted.

"Yeah, I left you," Dave said. Becky was surprised by how sad his voice sounded. She began to understand his relationship with the other girl. "On a mountain. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," she whispered. Then, just like that, she forgot about her feelings. Flicking a blond bang out of her eyes, Levy said in an offhand tone, "You're uncle's coming now. I can see him."

_Cyril_. Becky scanned the sky hurriedly. Levy smiled at her, but Becky ignored it. She cursed in her head (something she rarely did) because she couldn't see a single thing in the sky. Where was Cyril coming from? Dave was searching too. His eyes darted from place to place.

In all of the hurry, she suddenly said, "Where is Balthazar?"

Dave stopped looking. He turned to her and with wide eyes, said, "I have no idea."

Levy was the one to speak. "They're at your house," she said, her lips turning up, awfully smug. "Cyril _persuaded _them to stay a little bit longer, and forget about you guys for a while."

"Levy!" Dave shouted. "How could you?"

"What?" she asked. "I didn't do anything. I was only here to help…"

"Help with what?" Becky snapped. Levy appeared to be shocked she had spoken, but continued on with her gloating. However, she resumed back to her weak self.

"I-I had to help take care of that one," she stammered. Levy lifted a delicate finger and pointed to Becky.

Becky felt herself fly backwards. She landed in the sea of short, stubby grass. Her palms stung badly and her shoulder hurt as well. Becky was positive she had just been thrown back. She struggled to sit up. Her back hurt from being pushed to the ground. Becky remembered Dave and Levy. She craned her neck, looking for the two. She saw them. They were some feet away from her. Dave was trying to attack her with a plasma bolt while Levy dodged. Her hair was dancing wildly as she avoided the numerous attacks. Even in the horrible darkness cast by the night, Becky could see her expression. She was scared and confused. She didn't want to get hurt.

Becky screamed when she saw an incoming shadow of black. The shadow moved swiftly and gracefully. Dave turned his head slowly. He had heard her scream, and thought something had happened. Becky shouted at him.

"No! Keep your eyes on _her!_" Becky yelled. But it was too late. Her warning had been received much too late. Levy had lifted her hand, and a white plasma bolt hit the back of Dave's head. She shifted from foot to foot as the black came towards her. It stopped and Becky squinted. She tried to stand to get to Dave, but a deep pain erupted from her ankle. She cursed again. This time, it was out loud.

Cyril. The black shape was Cyril. He talked urgently with Levy first, who kept moving nervously. He stopped, then bent down and inspected Dave. He was lying on the ground. He wasn't dead, but unconscious. Becky felt some sort of relief, but that all went away when she saw Levy marching up to her. She tried to see if Dave or Cyril were there, but couldn't get a good view. Levy was getting closer.

And then she saw it. Cyril had someone in his arms, the head lolling back. Becky screamed after the Morganian. He turned a little, and smiled at her. In the night, Becky could definitely see this smile. It was a terrible one.

She was on the ground now, lying on her back. Levy was bent over her, full lips in a disturbingly pretty grimace. Becky shut her eyes tightly, knowing she was about to get a hit.

_Please, please don't let me die!_ She prayed internally as she heard the swish of air.

She was unconscious in two seconds flat. Levy straightened her posture and barely spared the human a glance. She sniffed in disapproval, then went back to Cyril Stutler. Levy briefly wondered how he could carry Dave. Then she remembered they had magical transportation.

Cyril raised a brow at her, questioning. "Nice work there, Miss Levyette."

"T-Thank you," she stuttered. She saw Dave's face by mistake. Cyril had moved towards her, and she could see him more clearly now. His eyes were shut lightly and he was breathing. But he was pale, and she had struck him. Levy looked down in shame as her blond bangs attacked her eyesight.

"Let us go now."

"Cyril?" she asked hesitantly. He paused, looking at her. "Will your nephew be particularly angry with me?"

He laughed heartily. "Oh, you bet," he said.

Her heart sank.

* * *

Okayy... How did I do? Positive and negative feedback, suggestions, and reviews are always good for the construction of the story! Did anyone expect this? Cookies go out to anyone who guessed that it was Twilight, whether they knew from their heads, or said so in their review! Happy reading, guys!

**-TracedScars**


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Note: There's going to be some more action coming up soon. And it might get a lot more disgusting when it comes down to Cyril's victim-hunting.

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN:

He wasn't fully awake yet. His consciousness had not been really regained all the way. But he could hear the soft melody playing from somewhere near. He had heard the lullaby before, in the field, but didn't tell Becky about it. It was something he wanted to keep to himself. It was _his _song.

He didn't know when to wake up. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. Dave knew this wasn't his bed, because this fabric was much softer. He thought he had never slept in it before. He knew he had to get up and attempt to contact Balthazar. But he just couldn't. Dave, admittedly, just wanted to continue sleeping, like he was before.

There were other sounds now. There were noises before, but not as loud. Before, Dave heard quiet shuffling. It sounded like a mouse scurrying across the floor, but he knew his family despised rats. They wouldn't have allowed themselves to live in such a lowly place. So it must have been his sister or Cyril or Levy. Now, Dave could hear the lullaby become more lighter. He could also hear violin music, Chopin's nocturnes, and wind chimes. Was he in an opera hall of some sorts?

Dave struggled to open his eyes. He _did _want to sleep. It wasn't a choice, though. He had been…taken, he was sure. Everything was still blurry and fuzzy in his mind. Despite his hazy recollection, Dave knew that he was brought here unwillingly, and he had every right to leave. He wanted to leave as well. Family was something he didn't need.

His lids felt as if they were sewn shut. It was hard to get them to open, but eventually, they did. There was no light. Darkness greeted him. He could see the bold outline of the objects in the room, and the door too. Dave sat up stiffly in the bed. He rubbed the nape of his neck slowly and tried to adjust his vision. He turned to the side of the bed and thought he saw a nightstand. Dave reached out and groped on the surface of the nightstand. He felt a flicker of hope as his fingers touched some kind of beaded string in midair. He pulled it.

A bright light erupted from the lamp. Dave flinched at the furious glow. He got used to not being in the darkness anymore quickly. Dave planned to step out of the bed, but his plan was ruined when he heard footsteps. He yanked on the light switch again and then put his head back down on the pillow. He pulled the blanket over him and shut his eyes, attempting to fake his slumber.

The footsteps came somewhere near his door. They stopped. Dave held his breath. After a few minutes of pause, the door was open. Dave could sort of see the gauzy light spill from the hallway (was there a hallway here?) and into the room. Now there was another person breathing.

"Not awake," the person grumbled. It was too low, so he didn't know if the speaker was Rachael, Cyril, Levy, or someone else entirely.

The door was shut. As soon as Dave was sure that the footsteps were far away, he turned on the lamp's light. The room was filled with the lamp's light again. He quietly left the bed. The floor felt unfamiliar. He saw a drawer against the other wall, next to a desk. Dave noticed the clothes he had on now. A gray t-shirt and dark pants he didn't own. He hadn't been wearing them before, he was sure of that. He grimaced at the thought of his uncle changing him, and prayed he swapped clothes magically. Dave wanted to get out of them immediately. He pulled open the three drawers and dug through them softly for something else. All of the clothes weren't any of his. Dave felt the corners of his mouth pull down. Since when did his uncle have any time to purchase him clothes? Eventually, Dave decided he wouldn't change. He marched over to the door. He opened the door as gently as he could. He didn't want anyone to hear him.

Dave had been right. There was a long hallway that led to a door. When he stepped out and looked left, he saw it led to a wall. Dave walked down the hallway and hesitated. He drew in a deep breath, then tugged on the handle of the door. He took a step forward and embraced the new light.

"Dave?"

"Rachael," he sighed. She was wearing red and black, but nothing from magical origins. She looked like a human right about now.

"It's one in the morning," Rachael observed. "What are you doing up?"

He looked around. He was in a dining room. A rectangular table stretched out across the large room. There were ebony chairs around the long table. It was like something out of Dracula's manor. Dave's gaze flickered up to the ceiling. A diamond chandelier hung from there, decorating the roof with sparkles.

"Dave?" his sister called. "What are you doing up?"

"I just woke up," he said, feeling somewhat irritated. It wasn't actually his sister he was annoyed with; it was with Cyril and, maybe, Levy.

"Er, do you want breakfast? Or something?"

"No. I want to see Cyril."

"He's not here." Rachael narrowed her eyes. She must have been inspecting him because there was something about her expression that made him self-conscious.

"Why not?" Dave demanded.

She bit her lip. He noticed they were coated with red lipstick. _Who puts on lipstick on during one in the morning? _

"I…actually don't know where he went," Rachael admitted.

Dave didn't trust her. "That's interesting." "Please, David. I don't care whether you believe me or not." She turned around and started for the door.

"What about Levy?" he shouted.

Now _this _made her pause. He watched his sister rock back and forth. Finally, Rachael said, "She's gone too. Which is kind of odd, since she can't really take care of herself that well."

Dave didn't stop her as she left. He knew that his uncle didn't have any cell phones or computers here. He wouldn't have been so stupid as to leave any type of communication here. So he was stuck, for now, with his sister. And his uncle, when he came back from whatever he was doing. He shut his eyes and remembered what he said last time they spoke. He struggled to sort through the words. But all he could recall was Becky.

Dave opened his eyes. He went back to his new room. There, he climbed back into the bed and shut off all the light. The entire room was doused with black. _Just the way I like it_, Dave thought to himself ominously.

* * *

Becky felt like she was back in her bed. When she opened her eyes, though, she saw she was on her couch. Veronica was hanging over her like a cloud, her eyes deep with worry. She quickly gathered memories of last night in her mind.

"You're feeling much better, Becky," Veronica said. "You can get up." Becky rose from the couch anxiously. She felt a little less morose knowing she could actually walk. Whatever pain she felt in her ankle last night was gone. Veronica offered her a cup of tea. Becky, surprised by the abrupt gesture, took it. After she finished drinking the tea in one gulp, she set it down on the coffee table.

"Thanks a lot, Veronica," Becky said, feeling grateful. The tea cleared some of the fogginess in her mind. She was free to think clearly.

"Dave," she suddenly said. "Where is he?" Of course, the answer had already came to her. She didn't know why she asked. When she saw the grim shake of Balthazar's head, her insides burned with fire. Becky couldn't tell whether this was from emotional loss or incredible anger. She _did _know she needed to sit down. She collapsed on the sofa and leaned against a cushion.

Veronica sat down with her and stroked her arm. "I'm sorry, dear," she said. There was real sorrow on her beautiful face. "We didn't know how to tell you that…he was gone. But it looks like you already knew."

"Yes. I did know." There was fierce fire in her chest again.

"It was our fault," Balthazar told her. This stunned her, and took away some of the anger. "We were about to take off after you. I have a hunch that Cyril was watching us, because he appeared right in the doorway. He convinced us then it was easier to stay and wait for things to blow over."

"That's his shtick," Becky informed them. "Remember the Incantus? And what Dave said? Cyril's got a mind trick."

Balthazar set his lips in a grave line. "That is true. Him having that ability is dangerous for us. And even more so, since he must need to feed a lot to maintain it."

Becky remembered when Cyril first visited. "Balthazar," she realized. "He said something about it in the apartment. He drained a girl's body of blood. I told you that, do you remember?"

"Yes," Veronica said softly. "We do remember. It means that he's had a great amount of blood in the past time."

So many people dead…just for one person. Her insides felt like flames.

"What can we do?" Becky demanded. "Dave, our Prime Merlinian, is gone. How are we to get him back? Do we even know where he is?"

"No," Balthazar said sharply. "We have no clue. But that's going to change. Charlotte Markov's book came in today."

"What?" Becky cried. She knew it was an important book. It had said something about the Stutlers.

"Yes, while you were out." In a flash, he brought out a book with a leather cover. The title was displayed in golden, stubby letters. Becky took it eagerly. She flipped through the chapter she really wanted to see. Her eyes squinted to read the tiny font. _Another family, not as known, is the Stutler family. Their ancestry can be traced back to the Salem Witch trials. You may ask how they are related to magical principles. Intensive research by the Foundation of History and myself have been conducted. I have traveled over to the home of one of the Stutlers, who had been convinced to be interviewed. I am not at the liberty to reveal her name; she simply is to be called by "S". S claims that she has books and artifacts in her cottage, which date back to the 1800s. She was kind enough to show me a silver necklace her who-knows-how-many-great grandparents made. It is simple, yet extremely beautiful and elegant. Ironic, S tells me dryly, as her grandparents of long ago, were poor. They have participated as one of the people who viewed witnesses to the witches at the Salem Witch Trials. S has not seen a lot of relatives for years, but she has a feeling they will visit one day. She also showed me another fine piece of jewelry, less gorgeous than the necklace, yet pretty in its own right. Something odd happened when encountering the ring. I suddenly felt faint when I put it on, and teetered towards the floor. Doctor Novak inspected me, and she promised that my vitals were excellent, I was in top-shape, and nothing was out of order in my body. S admits this has happened before with certain people trying on the ring. Camilla Zackary of the Mythology Group believes this to be of the negative affect the ring can have on ordinary people._

Becky put down the book on the coffee table. Some of this sounded a bit moronic, if she was being honest. And then again, some did appear believable. The ring, for example. Now that was something. Every sorcerer had a ring, or some kind of item, that their power relied on. This S seemed real to Becky as well. Why wouldn't she have kept her name a secret? Considering Dave's awful family members, she didn't want to be hunted down (or something like that) for revealing crafted pieces to humans.

"There's…some useful stuff in here," she said to the two lamely. It was partly true.

Veronica let out some air through her teeth. A very ungraceful noise, Becky noted. "We know it's useless, dear," she said to Becky. "The book, I mean. But it means we have found out that Dave's family has a goal in all of those parental chaos."

"A goal?" Becky repeated. Her features displayed her confusion, she was sure. She had never thought the Stutler family had a goal. Perhaps to ruin her relationship with Dave, but nothing more than that. She was gravelly reminded of Cyril Stutler, and the cup of blood in his hands. He needed bodies. _He _had another goal.

"Cyril, being the sick Cruor he is," Balthazar said abruptly, tracing a circle on the table with his fingers, "will a hundred percent raid New York for some fresh bodies."

"Look at this page," Veronica said. She took the book and flipped through it. She found one page, and tapped it with one finger. She handed Becky the book. It was just about another magical family.

"Um…"

"Read on further," Balthazar urged.

Becky did as told. She squinted as she skimmed across the page. Her eyes widened when she saw one single term that stood out above the rest. It jumped out at her as if written in bold font. Cruor. Her muscles tensed up as she read the page with much more care. The Alling family was believed to be consisted of blood-drinkers, only like vampires when it came to dinner time. The only person whose name they could be sure of was Levi Cruor Alling, a young woman who liked to drink the blood of village boys. There was a single picture of her on the other page. It showed a plain-looking woman with light, blond hair. It was drawn with ink, so it was impossible to tell how old she was, or pinpoint her exact features, like the eyes or the mouth.

"So how does this help?" Becky asked.

"If you read a little bit more on," Balthazar said to her, "you can see that Levi Cruor Alling and her husband slaughtered the young throughout the village because she was falling weak. She needed the blood to drink, but she and Mr. Alling took more than they needed."

"How come?" Becky started looking for that information in the book, but Veronica laid a hand on hers.

"Because, apparently, Levi Alling had an enemy in her village. It was, ironically enough, her neighbor. She grabbed more bodies than necessary, and then drained each and every one. In the end, Levi attacked the neighbor and disposed of the corpse. The neighbor would have survived, but Levi was much too powerful to ward off alone."

"So…that means Cyril is going to look for bodies?" Becky asked, struggling with her words. She looked down at her shoes. She just couldn't imagine a man easily taking regular people, killing them, and taking their blood. How heartless was Cyril? Didn't he have _some _sort of good in him? _No, _a voice in her head snarled.

Veronica appeared distressed. "That's our closest guess."

"He wants to be more powerful than he already is, doesn't he?" Becky questioned. She kept looking at her shoes.

"And not only that," Balthazar chimed in. "He might be searching for a…for some sort of heirloom."

"A heirloom?" Heirloom: something valuable handed down from family member to family member.

"A heirloom," Balthazar repeated largely. He enunciated each word. "In this Markov's book, S talks about a heirloom. A necklace."

"So what's so special about the necklace?" Becky asked impatiently. She gathered her willpower to prevent her foot from tapping rudely.

"Who knows?" Veronica answered. She gave a light lift of her shoulders. "They could be after the ring, perhaps. I don't think it's that, but we need to keep an eye out for both items."

"Any idea where they are?" Becky toyed with her hair now. If she couldn't tap her feet, at least she could strangle some of her hair.

"Both are in S's home," Balthazar murmured. "Yet we don't know where she lives."

"This is why we need to find Markov," Veronica added.

A sudden idea light up in Becky's mind. Excitement replaced the impatience. "Balthazar! Veronica!" she said giddily. They looked at her with curious eyes. "Remember when I told you about Modessa? And the journal?"

"Yes?" Veronica prodded quietly.

"Well, it must be in Dave's apartment!" she said, her words stringing together because of how swift she was speaking. "It's still gotta be there! If we found it, we could find out more about Modessa and anything else!"

"Er, Becky, as helpful as that plan might sound," Veronica said, "we don't know for sure where it is inside that apartment."

"Please, Veronica, we could try!" she cried out. "Just let us try! Couldn't you use magic?"

"We could," Balthazar confirmed. "But if we are being truthful, Dave received this journal from Modessa. We don't truly know if it isn't guarded with spells or barriers."

"But Dave opened it!" Becky protested.

"That's right," Veronica said. "He did. But that could've been a trick on Modessa's part. She could have intentionally done it to ensure only he could look at the journal."

"Could we at least tried?" Her words were filled with anxiety. She was sure her face was imploring.

Veronica and Balthazar exchanged a glance.

"We can try," Balthazar said. "But we won't make any promises on what we might find. We could find nothing at all."

"But we're going to try!" Becky reminded him. She stood up. "Now, where's my jacket?"

"I'll get it." Veronica retrieved it and handed it to her. She hurriedly put it on.

She ran for the door, careful not to trip. A cold blast of wind came out to greet her. She looked over her shoulder and assessed the couple.

"Well? You guys coming or not?"

* * *

There were three girls sitting on the stools at the black, gleaming counter. One a blond, the other two brunettes. The blond was easily the skinniest girl, but the stick-thin look just wasn't for her. She wasn't even remotely pretty. Her eyes, perhaps. They were the perfect shade of gray-blue, but it didn't make up for her tiny face and too off-center nose. Her hair was too short as well. He made a face. He didn't like short hair, not even a little. He moved his eyes off the blond and stared at the girl sitting next to the blond. They widened slightly when he took more time to look at her face precisely. She was indeed gorgeous. Rich hair the color of chocolate. It was wavy and seemed soft, like clouds in the sky. Her eyes were brown, a factor he grudgingly had to accept. He hated brown… But she petite and beautiful with her features, perfectly good traits he had to accept. He unwillingly moved off her and stared at the third girl. She was chatting at too high speeds. Her lips were perfect, he noted. In fact, this girl seemed more perfect than the other one. But then really looked at her. If he was being honest, the third girl was too tall, too leggy, and too pouty. She was definitely a fighter. And he didn't need a fighter. He needed someone who would come with no hesitation, and would present no trouble when he took her life. Just because the third one was attractive, it didn't mean he needed her. He decided which one he wanted.

He stood up from the private booth and made his way through massive crowds. He could hear music that was too loud and disgusting noises that indicated some sick expression of teenage love. He heard some curses and name-calling as well. He couldn't help it as he smirked. Sometimes, it was so funny to hear these commoners arguing. Arguing over appearances, over weight, over themselves. They acted like nothing else was important. They clearly did not value their lives.

He tapped the second girl on the shoulder and offered her an alluring smile. Before she even said anything, she was astounded. Flustered, as well, might he add. The girl was stunned as soon as she saw him.

"Hello," he said quietly, attempting not to attract attention from the other two. "Would you mind pointing out some directions for me? I'm new in town, and hopelessly lost." He flaunted another smile.

The girl nodded, dazed. "S-sure. Can we go outside? It's too noisy here." She recovered, and gave a smile of her own. Silly, stupid girl.

"I wouldn't mind." He let her lead him outside. He chuckled to himself as they reached the doors. The girl didn't hear him.

Once they were outside, the girl paused and ran a hand through her hair. Trying again, he noticed with a tad annoyance, to seduce him.

"Where do you need to go?" she asked, smiling once more. She showed her white teeth this time.

"I-" The doors swung open. The third girl, the leggy one, came out. She shook her head, hair dancing. He sighed internally. Why was she here? The girl looked at the one he had chosen. The tall one looked at her with a worried expression.

She flicked hair out of her eyes. "Melissa, please come back inside."

"This man needs directions," the one named Melissa answered. She appeared to be a bit irritated the tall one interrupted.

The tall one looked even more worried by now. "But Melissa…"

"Go back inside, Mo," Melissa laughed. "I'll be right back in, I promise. He just wants directions. 'Kay?"

The look on this girl's face said anything but okay. "I-I guess," she said. She gave him a regretful look before disappearing back into the club.

"Now, about those directions?" Melissa said, giggling.

"Follow me." An order. A shock went up her spine, and her lips set themselves into a tight, pressed line. She followed him without a word.

"Good girl," he sighed. Melissa trailed after him as they slipped into the dark alley.

"Stand still," he whispered into her ear. "This is the right thing to do. Stand still, all right?"

"You're right. It's completely right."

Power was wonderful. He put his lips to her cheek and went down to her neck. He hated clichés, such as biting the neck. That was the vampire's way. He was no vampire. He was Cruor.

He immediately straightened up. His hands found their way to the back of her head. He ran his long fingers through her dark hair for a few seconds. Then he grabbed the long strands and jerked them back. Her head veered upwards as a sickening snap echoed off the walls of the alley. He slammed her against the wall, turned her over, and ran his teeth over the shirt covering her back. They ripped easily and the remains of the clothing fell to the floor. He used his sharp teeth to cut open the beautiful skin on her back. She would have cried, moaned, and screamed if she were still alive. But the girl was no longer among them. He chuckled at the line as he licked at the fluids leaking out of her back.

She tasted okay. Not perfect, like the blond he killed a while back, but she would do. Her blood wasn't as sweet as he preferred his liquid to be. It was a tad salty. What had this girl been _drinking _before? The sharp tang of alcohol stained her blood. He licked her broken skin anyways. It was good to try new things.

He finished her off within a matter of minutes. A little body held the same amount of blood as a regular person, but it was never enough, for some strange reason. He chewed on her dark hair while contemplating his thoughts. This had been his first victim since he left the house. How was Rachael doing? And more importantly, what was David up to? He was sure his niece would be able to handle the boy, but he was a tad stubborn. And whiny. Goodness, his nephew could complain at times. He knew David's grumbling was more powerful than his skills. That's right, he thought. He had yet to see his nephew's abilities in action. He would have to test them, if the boy would let him…

He needed more. He looked at the girl on his lap in disgust. As soon as her blood had left her, she no longer smelled or tasted as good. He pushed her off him in anger. He wanted more. Something better than the tiny girl who lay dead at his feet.

He remembered the blond girl and the couple. Balthazar Blake would have to be tracking him, along with his lady friend. He laughed. The blond would be furious to realize her little boyfriend was gone. An idea burrowed through his mind…

Hmm, he thought. The blond one. She _would _be angry. And she would want to see David…

This new idea could be entertaining...

* * *

Sorry for not updating so long! I love how this chapter turned out! I like writing from Becky's point of view.

**-TracedScars **


	9. Chapter 8

Author's Note: I never planned on putting those two characters in there. They're my OCs, obviously. However, I felt it would add more zest to the story. Maybe Modesty and Rue will grow on you guys!

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT:

Becky knocked on the door furiously. She stopped when she heard large footsteps and someone crying that they were coming. She placed her hand in her pocket. Her knuckles hurt.

Balthazar and Veronica flanked her. They were standing with rigid positions. Normally, Veronica would have been relaxed yet serious. She would have warm eyes, but a stern face. Now, she was just as strict and tense as Balthazar was. Of course, their situation was one to worry about. Balthazar's apprentice (and the Prime Merlinian) had been kidnapped. By his sadistic, blood-crazed uncle…and the girl named Levy.

Becky felt herself freeze. She hadn't known much about Dave, period. But Levy! Why didn't he tell her about his past girlfriend? Okay, so she didn't know yet whether this girl was his ex or not. But the way they interacted on the field made her think they were more than childhood friends once. Becky felt a tad betrayed. Even if he never planned to tell her about his family…shouldn't he have at least clued her in to this girl? She had never had any serious boyfriends or boyfriends at all. A few crushes, like any average girl. She had told him that. But he never revealed to her about Levy.

The door opened. Becky faced Dave's roommate, Bennet. She tried her best to put on a convincing smile. It was a half-hearted attempt. Bennet didn't seem to notice. He welcomed them into the apartment with open arms. He was very jovial and cheerful. Becky felt even gloomier when she noticed his attitude. She was jealous.

"Hello, Bennet," she greeted. "I'm here with Dave's…aunt and uncle. You've met them before, right?"

"Hi. Veronica and Balthazar?" he said carefully. Among claimed relatives who looked as supercilious as the queen herself, Becky understood his discomfort.

"Hello," Veronica said quietly.

"Yeah, um, we're here to borrow something of Dave's," Becky said.

"Help yourselves. He's got too many relatives," Bennet complained. "First his uncle drops over for an unexpected visit, then his sister comes over-"

"_What?_" Becky gasped, startled.

Bennet looked at her strangely. "Yeah. Rachael knocked and said she was looking for something here."

"Do you know what she was looking for?" Balthazar demanded.

"Um, I think so. It was something about a journal?"

Becky groaned. "Ohh…"

"Becky? Are you okay?" Bennet asked.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Just fine."

After regaining her posture, Veronica asked, "Do you know when she came over?"

"A…An hour ago, I think," he said. His eyes, usually full of mischief, were pooled with concern. He anxiously asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, things are fine," Becky said through gritted teeth. "We were just searching for the exact same thing, is all. We were worried it would be here. We're glad Rachael has it."

"Anything else?" Bennet asked. "You're welcome to sit down."

"No," Veronica said weakly. "Thank you, though."

"Incidentally, Dave won't be here for a while," Balthazar said. Becky quickly looked at him with a searching gaze. "He's going on a family trip."

"With you all?" Bennet asked, surprised. The impromptu news stunned him.

"With Veronica and Balthazar," Becky lied. "I'm going to be with my friends."

"Okay…"

"We'll…just be leaving now. Thanks, Bennet," Becky sighed. He nodded. He obviously wanted them out before anything else got weirder. After the door closed, Becky moaned. She backed up against the wall and slid all the way down in defeat.

"Becky?" Veronica's voice was colored with worry.

"I can't believe this," she cried. She angrily kicked the floor. Veronica jumped. "Sorry. I…I can't believe that Rachael got here before we could. We were so fast! For once, can't things go our way?"

"Calm down, Becky," Balthazar said sternly. "We'll be able to figure this out."

"No, we _won't_," Becky said. "They've got his mother's journal. They've got Dave. They've got his father, who is supposedly stuck in the box."

"It is an unfair advantage, I understand," Veronica said soothingly. "But sometimes, Becky, life isn't fair. And don't give up, all right? That won't do any good, and it certainly won't bring Dave back."

Her stiff shoulders relaxed. "Okay. I get what you're saying."

There was an unpleasant silence that followed. Becky was left to muse while the couple stared out the apartment window. She thought about how stupid she had been to let Dave out. She thought about how she felt upset over Levy. And how she was beginning to despise his uncle. Cyril the Cruor… If only she could see him now. If only she could do something about her boyfriend's sudden kidnapping. If only…she was a sorceress. That would be something.

The door was thrust open. Becky swiftly got up from her spot on the floor. Two pairs of brown eyes snapped towards Bennet, who was coming out. He looked slightly abashed, as if he thought he was interrupting something.

"Hey, guys," he said. "I forgot to tell you. I'm real sorry. I remembered when you left. I-I actually didn't know you were still here."

"It's fine," Veronica said firmly. "What did you want to tell us?"

It was only then did Becky notice the small box in his hands. "When Rachael stopped by," he said, "she gave me this. She told me that Becky or Veronica and Balthazar would come over. I was supposed to give you this. Sorry for forgetting."

He slipped the package into Becky's numb hands. He gave a little, sheepish dip of his head and then returned back into the room. The door shut quietly. The click was heard throughout the silent corridor.

She tore the box open. Then, it was gone.

She looked up to see Balthazar holding it. "Be careful," he warned her. "This could have been bewitched, for all we know."

Becky suddenly felt very foolish. Of course. She should have known better. Morganians always had sly tricks like that. She bet his family would have plotted an attack like that. Good thing Balthazar was around. He would definitely recognize something. Veronica too, probably, but Balthazar had been around longer.

Balthazar tapped the box a couple of times. He murmured some incantations under his breath. Nothing happened to the box.

Finally, he said, "It's clean." Becky giggled. He sounded like some sort of cop.

She took the box again eagerly. There was tissue paper in it. Becky wondered if this was a twisted joke. Why tissue paper?

There was a card too. _Dear Merlinians,_

_I do believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot. You see, perhaps we should behave like adults, and reintroduce ourselves formally. However, I must regret to inform you that I'll be awfully busy this week. David's father is still held up. His sister is much too occupied with her acquaintance, Levyette. We will meet eventually, but for now, if you wish to locate me during my busy schedule, I'll be where David's usual classes are. Ah, and as for the matter of my nephew, here is the answer: no, he will not be coming back. It's our little family get-together. Have a good day._

_Cyril _

Becky glared at the letter. She showed it to Balthazar and Veronica. They narrowed their eyes at the offending words. She lowered her head. She hated the helpless feeling she had inside.

"We can find him," Balthazar said, folding up the letter. "He purposely told us where he would be."

"Why'd he do that?" Becky asked.

"He wants us to find him," Veronica informed her in a hard voice. It made Becky look up. "To him, this is a game he has all planned out in his mind. He believes we won't be able to catch him."

"That's where he's incorrect," Becky murmured under her breath. Her voice cracked a little, and her words stumbled into each other. "I've got two Merlinians who are more than experienced, and they'll be able to track down one Morganian just fine. Then we can probably g-get some kind of information out of him…or something. Maybe he'll tell us where Dave is." She sounded like she was rambling mad.

"Er, Becky," Veronica said. She placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know it seems quite easy. But it's not that simple. He seems more than prepared himself. He has others with him. He could actually be plotting to ambush us."

"But we have to try," Becky insisted. "Maybe we can nab him."

"Maybe," Balthazar said while grimacing. "However, we don't know for sure. We have no clue how far these people will go to get…whatever. Dave would probably have one of his tantrums if they hurt any of us seriously."

"His family doesn't seem like the caring type," Becky mumbled fiercely.

Veronica was the one to answer. "That may be. That may be."

"I feel…so…so…" She gripped the box in her hands. Then, without any kind of warning, she threw it against the wall. Veronica took off her hand. She appeared to be stunned by the behavior. Balthazar remained still. Perhaps he had seen this sort of attitude before.

"Becky," he sighed.

"I know that won't help," she snapped. Becky ran her hands through her hair furiously. "I just feel so fed-up!"

"We all do, dear," Veronica said softly. She didn't sound as such. Veronica just sounded…really exhausted.

"We'll go to the university," Balthazar promised her, "and hunt for him."

Becky nodded. She retrieved the box and stomped over the trash can in the corner. She jammed it down the empty space.

"In the meantime," Becky said, "I think I'll go to your house."

"I should walk you," Veronica said. "In case someone attacks."

"Fine," Becky said tiredly. She knew there was no point arguing. She trudged down the steps, hearing Veronica's delicate footsteps trail behind. Her loud noises contrasted greatly with Veronica's suave way of walking. It was just her anger. Becky knew she wouldn't have been creating such a fuss if she wasn't in a rage.

* * *

The girl screamed shrilly. She stumbled down the stone path, tripping once or twice. Cyril sighed. He always knew that the prey ran; it was merely instinct, completely self-preservation. Still, he hated it when they thought they could actually escape him. Those who survived the first torturous stages of the feeding process usually attempted to flee. They held on to that thin shred of hope. Cyril shook his head. Why did they believe they could get away so easily? They had seen his ability and how he obtained them without difficulty. Subterfuge and any chance of life was impossible.

He did like it, in some strange, irrational way. He loved watching them run. Especially the young women. In all their bloody, torn glory, they would bound across steps, halls, or cold ground like today. They were much like golden gazelles with a desperate, needy kind of beauty. Even when they were injured or a few moments away from death. So precious.

Cyril didn't chase after the girl. He walked casually down the stone path, admiring its graceful construction. Who had been the artist behind this simple, yet lovely artwork on the ground? He chuckled. The girl screamed again; he was sure he hadn't even gotten close to her. But his head snapped up to see why the girl howled.

She had tripped. Except this time, she had fallen. Perhaps she twisted her ankle in her haste. The girl was on the path, shivering from the cold and wincing constantly from the pain. Cuts decorated her bare arms and black lips. Bruises covered some parts of her pale, delicious skin. Her red hair was ruffled. A mess. It was more colorful and vivid with the bright blood on her shoulders, as well as on her bangs. Cyril could hear the faint noises of Chopin playing. Ah, a musician was near. He smiled softly. Ironic. A beauty has fallen, lost all of her will and grace. The final moment was nearing.

She was not crying. She held her head up high and kept her frame steady. He liked that. The girl knew she was going to die, yet she carried her few moments with a torn fury.

He came closer now, and sealed the distance unwillingly. Poor girl. She was such a pretty thing, with her red hair and light, blue eyes. He almost wished not to kill her. As he stepped towards her, he decided to issue some words. Cyril bent down on one knee and gave the girl a gentle smile. She stared at him with strong eyes. She had given up, but had done it with grace. She was a broken ballerina doll, with glassy, exquisite splendor.

He had never spoke with the victim when the end of their time came near. He hated clichés, the villains that smirked as they sauntered down the street towards their bleeding victim. Of course, he might seem like a cliché, considering how he walked with such confidence. However, he only smiled softly and made their deaths quick. He did not talk. It was unnecessary.

Cyril just couldn't help it this time. She deserved some sort of recognition for giving in to him beautifully. No one held such a steely gaze when their death was arriving.

"You were just so _wonderful_," he told her happily. "You did put up a fuss at first, but only because you are human. It was such a zestful performance. You changed tack completely. And now you are on this ground, making no move to save yourself."

She didn't glare, like he expected. She _did _speak. When she did, her voice was blasé. "I knew you were trouble from the minute I saw you," she said. "I wanted to see how capable you were."

Now this was new. Cyril let her continue, instead of killing her outright.

"It's stupid, I know," she said. "But that's what I had to do. Risk my life for the sake of knowledge."

He tsked at her. "Dear girl," he murmured. "It was only for your sake. You will die now, and no one else will be the wiser."

"Why did you do it?" she whispered. There was a curious spark in her eyes.

"I must feed," Cyril answered indifferently. "I need your blood. I hope yours won't disappoint, my pretty dear."

He leaned in and kissed her neck. Then, within a flash, her skull was smashed against the path. He smiled faintly. He surveyed her again. Was it possible? She was prettier when she was dead. Cyril put his lips to her neck, but lifted them silently. He didn't like neck wounds, for some reason. To see blood leak out of her neck would be unsettling for him. Instead, he cut her arm with his teeth. A fine red line ran from her shoulder to her wrist. The blood suddenly burst through, running over her arm like a burgundy waterfall. Cyril lapped up the liquid. He had made a small mistake; he wouldn't be able to suck her blood this way. He settled for simply licking it like a cat.

Her blood was…difficult to describe. She didn't have a hint of saltiness to her blood, like the girl named Melissa. She wasn't too sweet either. A perfect balance, although there was something else. Her blood was too perfect. He drained her quickly.

Cyril stroked her red hair, then sighed. He would have liked more. Oh, well. He got up and started walking away. He noticed that it was ten in the morning. He should have gone to greet his nephew. But he did promise those Merlinians he would meet them. Two problems with easy solutions. He decided he shouldn't keep either of them waiting.

* * *

"When is he coming?" Dave repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Rachael lifted her head from the book she was reading. Her delicate eyebrows went up in disbelief. He had been asking this constantly. However, he was given lame excuses, false promises, and deliberate shoulder shrugs. This had gone on for two hours. Dave woke up again at seven (without his clock, somehow…) and saw his sister in the dining room again. They had sat at the table and said nothing to each other. It was then that the minutes and silence took a toll on him. He began to ask whether he would see his uncle or not. Rachael didn't actually know, as she claimed. Dave didn't buy it. He kept on pestering her with the question. She would explode soon, he could tell.

Right now, she was very sang-froid. Rachael pushed her book away and said coolly, "I have no idea. When. He. Is. Coming."

"Fine. Don't tell me." He leaned back in the chair. He surveyed the décor of the place once more. He had memorized the surface, the ceiling, and the pattern. It was dull work.

There was a soft click somewhere throughout the place. Dave sat straight. Rachael left her book on the table and flitted off. He got up and followed her.

He was pulled through twists and turns of the long hallway. There were doors marking both walls of the foyer. He stopped short in front of a bigger door. Rachael pulled on the knob. His uncle was standing there. At first, Dave didn't believe it was Cyril. The black clothes were stained with what looked like blood. He stepped back and took a better look. He realized that it was his uncle. Another realization came, and he wished it hadn't. Cyril had been feeding. And judging from his face, he had a good time at it too.

Dave's stomach churned.

"Hello, Rachael," he said. His breath came out like fog. "David." He gave a little tip of his head.

"How was it, Cyril?" Rachael asked.

"Fine. I've had two, so far. One was perfect. She was pretty too…"

"Remember your wife, Cyril," Rachael added. "She'd be pretty ticked off if she learned how you were picking off the prettiest girls in the bar."

"Not necessarily the bar," Cyril mused. "And I'm sure Alexandria has the utmost faith in me."

His sister snorted. "Sure. Come on in."

They came to the dining room. Dave sat in his chair and tried to keep his head up. The thought of his uncle murdering nice-looking girls made him sick. Choosing his victims just because they were pretty.

Brushing aside _those_ thoughts, he said, "Cyril! I want to know why I'm here."

"Damien sent him," Rachael said. Oh, now she gave him an answer.

"So as you see, I couldn't say no to my brother," Cyril explained.

"What do you want from me?" Dave demanded. "I didn't see you for years, and now you decide to pop up into my life?"

"Well," he said slowly. "I've been really busy; couldn't exactly plan a visit ahead of time."

"What were you busy with?" Dave asked, scowling.

"Trying to contact your sister. And your father. The Cell was very weak when I arrived. The guards disbanded and Rachael was left all alone. The mental walls were brought down quite easily."

"I thought you said you got out by yourself," Dave said, looking at Rachael.

Cyril smiled. "Yes, she did. But that doesn't mean I wasn't waiting for her when she did."

Dave mumbled something rude under his breath.

"Everyone important needs to be here," Cyril continued. "You'll find out soon what we came here for. It's a bit tangled, I'll admit. However…we have matters to discuss right now."

"Like what?" Dave asked sourly.

"Like that ring of yours," Rachael said. She frowned.

A cold chill ran down his back. He had forgotten. Dave glanced at his hands. For the first time, he noticed that his blue ring was missing. Why hadn't he felt it? In all the commotion of family business, he didn't realize that they had confiscated his ring while he was unconscious. Some family.

Then a darker thought entered his mind. The same question that was addressed back at Balthazar's house was echoed in his head. How would his family react to him being the Prime Merlinian?

"Your ring looks valuable," his uncle said, interrupting his musings. "I like its design, but I prefer red to blue."

"That's wonderful."

"Sarcasm. I never thought you'd resort to that," Rachael murmured.

"I've noticed something besides its appearance," Cyril said. Dave's eyes strayed elsewhere. "It's Merlin's ring, isn't it, David?"

He didn't know what to say. So he stayed quiet.

The question passed on. "I'd just like to know how you acquired such a ring."

Yeah, right. "Um."

Cyril's eyebrows raised. "You don't know? Surely you can remember."

"It's my ring now."

His uncle appraised him. His eyes were blank. His sister sat there. She looked sort of anxious. Perhaps it was their stare-down.

"What?" Dave asked.

"I notice that you are a terrible liar. You always were. Ask anyone," his uncle said. "However, I know you aren't lying when you claim it's yours. I'm positive that is Merlin's ring, and I think I know why you have it in your possession."

Uncle Cyril was a genius, Dave decided darkly.

"Do the words _Prime Merlinian _ring any bell, David?"

"Yes," he answered boldly. "They do."

"That's good. But I don't believe you're father would like them. He'd like his son to be a Morganian. Or at least have some proper morals."

This snagged his attention. "Excuse me? Proper morals?" Was he kidding?

"You're girlfriend," Rachael said slowly. "The blond one you seem to love so much."

Dave crossed his arms. "Is that another matter that needs to be addressed?"

"Absolutely," Cyril replied.

"What's wrong with her?"

A cold look passed over his uncle's face. "Ah," he said. "Let us count the ways. She is a human. Second, she can't stand up for herself. Third, she has no business looking for sorcerers to canoodle with. And-"

"Did you just say _canoodle?_" Dave demanded.

"Yes, canoodle. I'm sure you and that girl are familiar with those terms."

"Maybe."

"I don't think you're understanding the problem," Cyril said. "She is a human girl. Humans and sorcerers cannot be."

"You're such a hypocrite, Uncle," Dave shot back. "Your own _wife _is human."

"No, she's not, David. She's one of the Cruor."

"But I never-"

"You never saw her drink blood, but she does," Rachael interrupted.

Dave blinked. So his Aunt Alexandria was one of them.

"Listen, nephew," Cyril cut in dryly. "I don't care about whatever relationship you have established with this girl."

"Her name's Becky," Dave fumed.

"Listen to me," Cyril repeated, the words distinct and clear. "When have you heard about sorcerers and humans getting together? It just doesn't happen. Humans get killed, are much too vulnerable, and can't protect themselves. Sorcerers, on the other hand, are much more capable. Smarter too."

Dave opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly shut it. He mulled over his uncle's words. There was something Cyril said that bothered him. He claimed that humans were less smarter, unable to take care of themselves against attack, and could die. Sorcerers could die too…but they did have a lesser chance of that. He hated to acknowledge it, but his uncle was correct. Humans and sorcerers didn't mate. Humans were frequent targets. Dave shook it out of his mind. No, he told himself mentally. Don't listen to Cyril. He's only trying to get into your head and make you think what he wants you to think. He wants you to agree.

"It seems you don't understand the message," Cyril noted. He didn't sound as pleased as he was before. "Perhaps you will in time. What else is on the list?"

"His father," Rachael prompted.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Rachael," Cyril murmured. He folded his hands on top of the table. "Rachael was the one who brought the box. She says you had it in your bedroom closet. I want to know why."

"I…"

"It's interesting, David," Cyril said, stopping him short. "You want nothing to do with your family, yet, you have your father inside of your closet, trapped in a stupid, tiny box. I know you haven't placed him in there, and that sorceress did. But you had it in your closet. How did you come across it?"

Dave fumbled with his words. He knew he had to explain. If he had been explaining to Balthazar, he would have been completely awkward and nervous. But he was explaining to his uncle. He was a bit more afraid with him.

"She came to me," Dave finally said. He sighed. "Modessa. She…gave it to me. The box, I mean. I…didn't know you two would come. Or want it. It's been such a long time. I didn't even think you would remember me."

"Don't be sad. We did remember."

"The only reason I'm sad is because I'm here, instead of being with Becky."

"She's not right for you," Cyril said heatedly.

"I never asked you for permission," Dave answered sharply.

"You're right," Cyril replied calmly. Too calmly. "And you don't need to. However, you _do _have to ask your father's permission."

"Uh, no I don't. I'm twenty. I can do whatever I want."

"Have you forgotten? We have magic as well. I think Damien can stop you pretty well."

"He should mind his own business."

"That's a tad ironic, David," Cyril noted. "A father's son _is _his business."

Dave stood up. He shoved his chair back in. "I'm going," he said. "I don't want any of you"-a pointed look at Rachael and Cyril-"to bother me."

"Have it your way," Rachael sighed.

Dave stomped towards his room like a sulky child. He slammed the door. Hard. It gave him no satisfaction, as he expected. Dave went to sit on his bed. He finally sunk down and crushed his face into a pillow.

He tried to sleep, and tried to dream about Becky.

* * *

Modesty hurried to the bleeding figure's side. She bent down. Her friend was still breathing, but she had lost a lot of blood. Modesty groped her coat pockets for something to use. She finally found a pack of tissues. She hadn't needed it since her cold had worn off, but she was grateful she had kept them. Modesty dabbed her friend's split arm with the tissues. It soaked up blood very quickly. The sight sort of made her ill. She would have to deal with it. Now that she had seen a Cruor in action, she'd have to face a lot more people with bloody cuts.

Rue's eyelids fluttered delicately. Modesty felt her spirits soar.

"Oh, Rue!" she cried. "You're all right! Thank God!"

"Hey, you know I'm not religious," her friend said gruffly.

Modesty grinned. "Sorry, I guess. I'm just so relived! H-He licked all that blood off your arm! I nearly fainted while watching!"

"How do you think _I _feel?" she mumbled. Rue snatched a tissue from Modesty and began wiping her arm.

"How's your head, Rue?" Modesty questioned.

"Fine. As soon as he left, the healing kicked in. My arm's going at a speedy rate too. He went pretty insane, to say the least. I mean, did you hear the way he talked?"

"It was a bit weird," Modesty agreed.

Rue handed her the bloody clump of tissues. "Here, take these. I don't need them anymore."

"Sorry I had to put you through that. I needed the information, though," Modesty said.

"It's okay," Rue shrugged. "Eh, you know I've had worse. The injuries didn't feel so horrible; a little prick, and then I felt those places go numb. That's what always happen, right?"

"Right. Good thing we have our healing factors." Modesty gave a shaky laugh.

"Yeah, good thing," Rue said, grinning. "Hey, Mo, do you think you can help me get some new clothes? These were the last pair of jeans I could afford, and they're nearly shredded."

"You're shirt's ruined too," Modesty noticed guilty.

"Whatever. I know you'll get me some spare."

"Sure, sure," Modesty agreed. "I swear, if my mother had told me I had to be in your place, I would have had a fit."

"That's the difference between you and me, kid," Rue laughed. "I volunteered, though."

"True. Let's get you off the ground. It's awfully cold."

She extended a hand as she stood. Rue grabbed it. She was pulled up. Rue brushed some imaginary dust off her ruined jeans. She winced.

"What?"

"I just noticed. It's really, really cold."

Modesty frowned. "Want to borrow my jacket? I've got it under my coat, and I'm sweating like crazy."

"Yes, please."

Modesty took off her coat. It fell to the ground. She slipped out of her brown jacket. That left her in a t-shirt that showed off her bare arms. She felt the cold bite into her skin. She quickly gave the jacket to Rue and hurried to get into her coat.

"So what kind of information have we gathered today?" Rue asked. She pulled up the sleeves. They were big on her.

"Well, the Cruor have very frightening ways of feeding," Modesty answered. "And they like to let their pray run. At least, this one does. Maybe it's just his thing. He is the only Cruor we've ever seen."

"Yeah. I'm still freezing."

"Want to go to my mother's?" Modesty asked.

"We have to report back anyways," Rue said, nodding. "Hey, Mo, did your mother ever say who we were trying to help?"

"She mentioned some guy named David Stutler. His father's a Morganian," she said. "Mother even thought that he was kidnapped."

"Who? The Morganian dad or this David Stutler?"

"David," Modesty replied. "She thinks another relative joined the fray and decided to take him."

"Wow," Rue said, sounding stunned. "That sounds strange. Who ever heard of a family member kidnapping his blood relative?"

"Actually," Modesty said, as they walked down the stone path, "that occurs a lot in the human news."

"I don't pay attention to humans."

"All right, all right. Let's get home faster. My mother will be eager for some kind of info."

"Right," Rue agreed. "Do you think we'll get any more jobs? Despite having to undergo a smashed skull and a Cruor lapping up my blood, it was pretty fun. Really cool to play the victim."

"It's not supposed to be cool, Rue. We're getting data and telling my mother so she can help this David," Modesty sighed.

"I know." After a while, she added, "Did you hear him call me pretty?"

Modesty groaned.

* * *

I would like my reviewers to answer this simple question:

Q: Did Modesty or Rue come off as... I dunno, Mary Sue-ish? Even a little. I don't want any of my characters to be Mary Sues.

Thanks for all the reviews! Twenty four so far, I believe. I'm always so happy and grateful when I read them! Happy reading!

-**TracedScars**


	10. Chapter 9

Author's Note: EEP! I beg of you, readers, please don't be angry with me for the incredibly short chapter. I can't help it. I was drained of energy when I wrote this, and when I thought about saving and continuing this, my brain screamed for me to upload this document and make the next chapter longer. So that's what I'll do.

* * *

CHAPTER NINE:

"Do you really think he's in there?" Becky whispered to Veronica. She would have gone straight to Balthazar for some reassurance, as he was a few feet away, but that would have been an incredibly bad idea.

Becky had went home with Veronica. She did some studying and finished up a load of homework she thought she would tackle days earlier. However, it didn't take her long to beg Veronica to take her to the campus with Balthazar. They entered the university quite easily. All it took was a simple spell to put the guard to sleep, and another to actually break into the school itself. But now, they stood in the long, gleaming hallway. Becky was standing next to Veronica, who remained silent as they both watched Balthazar conduct another spell to search around for Cyril Stutler. Veronica would have performed the spell herself, but Balthazar wanted her to protect Becky in case something occurred.

Veronica finally answered. "I believe so. But this could also be a trap. However, I think we might be actually getting our way."

She didn't want to break Balthazar's concentration, but she had to speak. "Veronica, do you think Dave is…hurt?"

Even with his back turned, Becky could see Balthazar's head perk up a bit as he listened more intently. His arms were still out, sending out silky waves of blue.

"Not at all," answered Veronica. "His uncle may have just wanted him there for a reason. He didn't have it in him to truly harm David."

"I don't think he'll hurt Dave either. But he really was angry when his family was brought up," whispered Becky. She watched Balthazar continue to conduct his spell. "Maybe his temper might earn him pain." She winced at the sound of her own words.

"Don't think like that, Becky."

"Veronica, I'm trying not to," she cried imploringly. "Come on, you're probably thinking it too!"

"Dear…"

"There's something wrong with him," Becky said, frowning as she spoke. "It just doesn't fit. It's the way he looks whenever his father is brought up."

Somehow, some way, Veronica managed to smile at her. It was a soft, kind smile that didn't mean she was having fun. It was a pleasant smile.

"It can't be anything that bad," she assured the younger girl. "No one can truly hate their father."

Was that true? Was it really?

Becky just focused her thoughts on finding and saving Dave from his circus of a family.

She gasped suddenly as Balthazar collided with the back wall. Veronica had grabbed her and pushed them both out of the way in time. When they got off from the floor, Veronica looked incredibly pained. Becky understood that pain. She knew what it was like, feeling horrible because you couldn't help the person you loved.

Balthazar was on his feet in a matter of minutes. He had a glowing plasma bolt ready in his gloved hands.

"I sensed something, but it was too late for me to react," hissed Balthazar. "Stay with Veronica, Becky." In the distance, Becky could see a blurry figure coming at them. Balthazar shot the plasma bolt. Becky's eyes widened as she saw it go, not to the thing, but to the light installed into the ceiling. It made contact successfully. The lights crackled and hissed, admitting sparks as it went haywire. Veronica tightened her hands around Becky's waist, pulling her only an inch away from the lights. Balthazar looked determined as he stared at the lights. And then it exploded.

One by one, each beam of light went out after another. Becky gasped as darkness flooded through the hallway. The figure that Becky caught a glimpse of was gone with the blackness.

"Veronica!" Her scream came out as a foggy whisper. Her voice was barely audible. Somehow, the woman heard her. She felt Veronica's comforting hands pull around her waist even tighter. Becky was relived for this; she was afraid of being left all alone in the dark. It was a rational fear, because now, there was an enemy out on the loose.

Where was Balthazar? Becky could feel Veronica's hands, and knew they were hers. But Balthazar was nowhere in sight.

"Balthazar Blake!" a voice called out. It was clear and as sharp as glass. It had to belong to a woman's.

Please don't be a villain, Becky begged mentally.

"Modesty, where _are _you?" demanded another unfamiliar voice. This one sounded tough, and was clearly female as well.

"Stay still, will you?" shouted the glass-like voice. "Balthazar, Blake are you here?"

"Who is this?" Becky could hear Veronica ask.

"Modesty Kay," the voice answered. "And Rue Carter, my friend. We have information that a Cyril Stutler is here."

"You know him?" Becky suddenly asked.

"No, but my mother is familiar with him…"

"Your mother?" Veronica repeated. "And who is that? What was your last name again?"

"Er, my mother is Modessa Kay," Modesty said uncertainly. "My last name is Kay. We can't explain much while we're in the dark. But to make things short, we came for Cyril Stutler."

"Argh!" This must've been Rue Carter, for she was the only voice left unidentified. "This is getting ridiculous!" Becky heard fabric rubbing against each other and faint clicking. Then, a thin flame of light flickered in the air. She was surprised to see how far away it was. The light was orange, but it didn't come from a cigarette lighter. There was a girl holding the light in her hands. She looked demonic, with the light under her chin, and the shadows tumbling out around her like layers of smoke. Her red hair was messy and her eyes scanned the area.

She shifted her hands and the light bounced shone towards the left. A girl was there. She was older than the girl with red hair, but not by so many years. This girl was cloaked in black. Only her skin stood out; a light golden color.

"Modesty," the girl said, relived. It was the one with a tough voice. So her name was Rue.

"I'm here, Rue," Modesty replied. A pause. "With us is Veronica."

"How do you know my name?" Veronica inquired.

"My mother is Modessa Kay," explained Modesty. "She said she knew you as a child."

Veronica sounded pleased. "She does remember me."

"Yes, Veronica, dear, I've always remembered," sighed a voice. "But now isn't the time for reunions. Balthazar Blake is not here."

Cold chills ran down Becky's spine. She felt Veronica's hands tighten, and knew that the latter's anxiety was probably greater than her own.

* * *

Modesty couldn't see the faces of Veronica and her friend so clearly. She frowned, knowing that a single light wouldn't help them much. Modesty should have thought of this earlier. With a satisfied expression, she formed a stable ball of white light in her hands. It was brighter than Rue's orange light; the combination of the colors created a disco ball of colors in the hallway.

Modesty and Rue walked together to Veronica and the blond girl. The blond looked like a wreck, despite her efforts to keep her face together. Her hair was slightly ruffled, which meant she ran her fingers through it a couple of times. Her cheeks were drained of color. The girl's eyes were normal, but Modesty knew from the way she was breathing that she felt bad. A slight wave of sympathy washed over Modesty. She knew what it was like to feel such a deep worry. _Poor blond girl,_ she thought. _What happened to you?_

Veronica had not changed at all. She had grown taller, but besides that, she was the same. Same beautiful hair and face. No wonder Mother had been jealous during her childhood. This thought reminded her why they came.

"Mother?" Modesty called out.

"Right here, Modesty." Her mother was right behind Rue, who was inches away from her. Modesty sighed in relief.

"What did you say?" Veronica screeched.

"Quiet, Veronica," Mother said. "They might be lurking around still."

"Balthazar is _gone!_" Veronica shouted. "I can't keep quiet! You said he wasn't here! Where is he, Modessa?"

"Veronica!" her mother shouted. Modesty saw the woman flinch. "Listen to me! Morganians are around this school! We mustn't let them know we are here."

Veronica remained silent. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. "Modessa, he blew out the lights. How are we to see?"

"With this," Mother announced. She took out a jar full of tiny specks of light. This increased the amount of light in the hallway. Now she could see the floor perfectly and the marble pattern of dots on the floor. Modesty felt the urge to hide her glowing energy, so she wouldn't attract Morganians here. There were four sorceresses here, a formidable amount of professionals to ward off other beings; but still, Modesty didn't like the attention of Morganians.

"Put away your lights, girls," her mother said. "We won't be needing them." As she set her jar down, Modesty and Rue flicked their fingers. The orange and white light were gone.

"Modessa, have you any more jars?" Rue asked impatiently.

"Yes, enough to light our path. Now, I want to speak with Veronica."

"I'm listening," Veronica said loudly.

Mother turned to her with a hard expression. "Veronica. All the lights are out in the building. Balthazar is not here. We must work together and try to find our way around here, so we may detect Balthazar as well."

"We didn't hear anything besides you guys," the blond whispered. Modesty and Rue stared at her. "So maybe he left on his own, or something?"

"Unlikely," Veronica answered. "He wouldn't have left us."

"Where else would he go, then?" asked the blond. "We didn't hear him being taken by force, right?"

"That's true."

"I don't know where he is," Mother said. "But he is not in this hall."

"Balthazar," Veronica cried. It seemed as if a bubble of urgency was in her voice.

"Calm down, woman," Rue said harshly. "We'll find him. Just focus on protecting the blond. She's human, so she'll need the help."

"She's right," the blond said.

"We can get down to all the facts later," Mother said, taking charge immediately. "Right now, we're going to search this building for Balthazar Blake. Has he got his ring on him?"

Before Veronica could answer, Rue said, "Yeah, he does. I saw him shoot a plasma bolt at the lights."

"And is he experienced? I've always heard you being better than him and Maxim at training," Mother said. Modesty wondered how powerful this Veronica was.

"Not always," Veronica murmured. "But sometimes. And Balthazar is very capable. He's training the Prime Merlinian, you know."

Was whom you were taking as your magical apprentice something that was casually dropped in at conversations? Modesty wondered. She didn't know many who talked a lot about their apprentices.

"Like I said, Veronica, facts later," Mother whispered in the darkness. "Come with us. Rue, keep your eyes on the girl."

"I can watch her," Veronica said.

"No, I want Rue to do it now," Modesty heard her mother say. "We need some good fighters if we're going to find Morganians running about."

"I'm a good fighter!" Rue protested defensively.

"You wish, sweetheart," Mother said. "Veronica, I'd rather you stay behind while my daughter comes up in front. Much better attack plan, you see."

"Correct."

Modesty went to her mother as she began to led their tiny group of people. Who was Balthazar Blake, really? He was rumored to be an excellent Merlinian and looking for the Prime. But who was this man that Veronica seemed so worried about?

He had disappeared without force, Modesty recalled the blond saying. He surely wouldn't have abandoned his presumed love and the girl, right? Modesty felt a fist clench around her heart. She knew what it felt like when a man left you and someone you cared about behind.

* * *

Yes, Modessa is Modesty's mother. So far, only one reviewer asked me that question.

Oh, and another thing. I put this up at the bottom because I believe people actually read here.

I haven't been getting a lot of reviews from people here. Only one, which is Sheherazade's Fable, who reviews constantly, a fact I am grateful for. What ever happened to those others who have also reviewed a lot, but suddenly stopped? I don't want to be rude, but it's not a big deal just to put in some good words for the author, right? Thanks.

-**TracedScars**


	11. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Hopefully nothing was out of character. I hate that. Please enjoy and please love!

* * *

CHAPTER TEN:

Everybody had a family. It was a fact, a scientific fact that could be proved by logic and data. It was quite simple. There was a mother and a father that provided the base. There were the children that sat upon the base, depending on it entirely for a good part of their lives, and even after they grew up to lead their own careers and homes. Cousins, aunts, and uncles branched off from each side, if they had any. The grandparents, if they were alive, would be placed under the base because parents always depend in some way on the people who gave birth to them.

Dave knew that many families were tight-knit and took care of each other. Some were happy families, others torn. He knew his family wasn't torn. It would always remain intact and strong, no matter how much he wished it wouldn't. His bloodlines were steel beams that refused to bend or break. Families that were broken apart left each other at frayed strands. His relatives would never leave, never die, and would forever follow him throughout his entire life. If he ever survived this encounter with his family, he would carry it the experience in his mind for a long time. Becky would too. Balthazar and Veronica wouldn't look at him as the guy with mean relatives; they'd see someone who had gotten through the inevitable Morganian blood that seemed to touch every one of the Stutlers.

Mom used to be a part of the base. She was the best mother, thus resulting in her having the most rotten luck. Gwen Stutler had not lived to see her son reach sixteen. She died a few months before his birthday. Dave remembered how he felt when the doctor delivered the news. It was like a hard slap in the face. She lived when his troll of a father tried to kill her with Morganian magic. Yet she couldn't survive a simple car crash? It didn't seem fair. Her death caused her part of the base to collapse. His father, the other half of the base, took over, stretching his controlling line across to make sure his children would depend on him.

Rachael was never the kind of girl to go on her own. She could talk tough and wander into troubling streets, but would never truly go off on an adventure she knew she couldn't handle. She did depend on their father, as well as their uncle. She was a strange sister. Rachael acted like every other girl, except for the fact she only wanted to go to "private school" and get a "foreign education" at the time. Ha; that was a laugh. Rachael only wanted to hide with her father frequently and practice magic. And she never bothered to tell him even a shred of it. Not a surprise. Rachael kept a ton of secrets to herself.

Uncle Cyril was one branch. He was a twisted type of branch that was sharp and sick. He liked being sadistic. Dave remembered one time, when they were watching the news, it showed blood on a street because of some hit-and-run thing. Cyril had licked his lips and decided to leave the room for a while. His Uncle wasn't even the sort of person to look after kids. He only babysat for his own gain.

Aunt Alexa was the only really nice relative. She offered him sweet things before dinner, something Mom would've never done. She let him stay up a little to watch television. She was just as kind towards Rachael. She loved her husband as well. But she kept secrets herself. She was Aunt Alexandria, a female Cruor. The pale, blond woman who smiled a lot now looked like a chalk-white vampire to Dave.

His father was never his father. Dave refused to even think that. He was a monster.

Dave himself was a bad part of the family. He had a terrible run-in with Balthazar Blake and Arcana Cabana. He was picked on and bullied. No one wanted his company and thought him a nerd.

Except for Levy. She'd smiled shyly at the entire class when the teacher introduced her. Dave didn't bother to smile back like the rest of the class. She was grinning at mean students, gossipers, and children who never wanted to be his companion. He had no interest in the new kid. But when she passed by his desk, she lightly touched his shoulder.

At the end of class, she came up to his seat as he collected his books. "Hi," she had said. "I'm Levy."

"I know," he'd said. "Ms. Lee introduced you, remember?"

"Right," Levy had replied, blushing a little.

"Are you going to apologize for what you did earlier? You touched my shoulder." Dave himself had been flushing on the inside. He had actually kicked himself mentally at the time. Why had he been ruining his chance at someone who probably wanted to be his friend?

"But I'm not sorry at all," Levy had answered. She'd smiled at him, revealing all of her white, sparkly teeth.

They became friends after that encounter. They sat together at lunch, talked while opening their lockers, and Dave even got up the courage to invite her to his house. People still gave him trouble about being nerdy, but they didn't really touch him anymore. No one wanted to bother him when he was friends with Levy. Dave guessed the bullies really wanted to ask her out, and being nice to her friends would get them to their goal good.

Dave recalled asking her about that. "Don't you like any of them?"

"No way," Levy had said. "They're all jocks with brains the size of tadpoles." They both exchanged grins at the time because they were studying tadpoles.

Dave didn't like Levy romantically. He thought she was cool and fun, even if she was a little shy sometimes. He always kept Becky in his head. He never knew what happened to her and missed her. When he was all alone, Dave would sometimes think about where she was and what she was doing. He knew he blew his chance with her. He would remember his therapy then, and decide to forget about it.

Therapy was another thing that brought Levy and him together. While they were friends, he never told anyone about his trips to the therapist. He felt bad about it and when he had to go. His dad always took him. One time, Levy had been at his house and they were doing homework. His father had come in and said it was time to go. Levy curiously asked him where he had to leave to.

"Nowhere," he'd mumbled.

"You can tell me. Are you heading to a club?" She had giggled nervously.

"No," he'd snapped. "Mind your own business."

But then her face was an expression of pain and Dave had to tell her. He secretly confided in her about therapy. But he never revealed why he had to go, saying that it was just a troubling event that was the cause.

Her eyes had grown wide. "I'm so sorry," she'd said. "Wow."

"I know," he had answered sadly.

They told each other their deepest secrets after that; who they liked, who they hated, and the most embarrassing things that had ever occurred. Dave never told her about Arcana Cabana but he did mention that water spilled on his pants when he was younger, and his classmates saw it.

She was very sympathetic when he said that. Over time, Dave began to realize that he did in fact find Levy very cute. She had blond hair and bubbled with enthusiasm, even if she was a tad shy. It made her adorable. She looked mysterious and petite under the moon. Dave decided he liked her when she wore yellow. She always looked the best in that color. Maybe Levy knew that, and that was why she usually wore her yellow dress.

Then came the summer trip. His dad and Rachael had gone off to train somewhere, but Dave never really knew that. They were pretending to be at a college meeting. Dave and Levy always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon. Mom agreed eventually. Dave never knew Levy's parents, if truth be told. She said she lived with her aunt and she said it was okay.

To the Grand Canyon they went. Aunt Alexa tagged along. Dave and Levy loved the summer they went to Flagstaff, a place near the Grand Canyon. They got to the rocky area itself soon after. Dave didn't remember most of their conversations because there was only one that truly was burned into his mind. There was going to be a summer dance somewhere. The summer was coming to an end and lots of people wanted to celebrate. Mom and Aunt Alexa wanted to go. Dave refused to go to the party. He just wasn't a social butterfly. His aunt and mother decided he could stay at the vacation house.

Dave went to the Grand Canyon again since it'd be the last time. He remembered seeing the sky and the space below. Levy tapped him on the shoulder and asked him why he wasn't going to the dance.

"I'm not much of a party guy," he had answered, shrugging.

"I think I'd like to go. But I really need a date," Levy had said. She had sighed. "I don't have one."

"You're cute. I'm sure lots of guys around here want to take you."

"I don't want to go with them."

"Why not?" Dave had been oblivious at the time.

She blushed and said, "Because I wanna go with you!"

Dave felt himself step back. "What?"

"I really want you to come with me," Levy had told him. "I've always…really liked you, Dave."

She had never been on a date before. Of course it would be difficult for her to confess. It had been equally difficult to turn her down.

"I'm sorry, Levy. I don't…think I can go with you."

"Why not? Don't you like me like that?"

He remembered Becky, and how she was blond and cute and so sweet. How she complimented him when he drew King Kong on the bus window. Dave was fifteen at the time. He had struggled with his words. He knew it was stupid to tell her no. Becky was never coming back in his life. He'd never see his first crush ever again. It would be stupid to say no to a pretty girl who actually wanted to go to a dance with him. Levy was admitting her crush on him, and he had tried to turn her down.

He couldn't get Becky out of his mind when he said, "I'm really sorry, but I don't like you that way. I just want to be friends. Sorry." He just couldn't. Dave refused to picture himself with anyone besides Becky. He saw the crushed look on Levy's face. He ran away from her swiftly and caught a ride back to the vacation house. He kept checking behind his shoulder to see if she was still there. Levy was. Her back was turned and she was staring at the space below, as if she wanted to jump.

He stayed at the vacation house for a long time. Levy came back and avoided his eyes. In some way, they had been girlfriend and boyfriend. They liked each other and wanted to protect one another. But they were never really a couple.

He and Levy finished high school without speaking with each other. Then Mom died. Rachael helped him find a suitable college, and then she was gone. Dave went to NYU and left behind his life. He met Becky, Balthazar, and of course he knew the rest.

And after all that trouble, Modessa Kay came to him and gave him the journal.

Dave didn't want anything to do with his family or Levy. So why was he sort of happy to see the blond girl standing in front of him?

"What are you doing here?" he snapped. He was pleased to see her, but would never let her know.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For _what_?"

Levy flinched. "I let Cyril take you here. I'm sorry. But I owed Rachael, and she's listening to your uncle, so in some sense, I had to listen to him-"

"Slow down. What do you mean, you owe Rachael? What did she do for you?" Dave asked.

She looked down. Blond strands fell in front of her eyes. "After we graduated from high school, my aunt and I had to leave. Morganians, both Cruor and not, came to us. They wanted us to help find Morgana. My aunt didn't want that for me. She thought I'd have a normal life, despite liking…the things humans had to offer."

Blood. She would always want blood, wouldn't she? She'd kill a human for it. But why didn't Dave feel any disgust? Why was he happy to see her, yet upset she'd let Cyril take him?

"So anyways, my aunt and I moved somewhere close to Stanford. I came home from the college and saw that she had been killed. Morganians, I knew. I erased memories of everyone who knew me. Cruors have some extra mental abilities, you know. I fled home."

"What happened after? Did Rachael or Cyril recruit you?"

"No," she replied sharply. "I lived on the streets and in clubs. I was a mess. My hair stank and I was dirty, filthy. I was no better than the drunk men and women in the night places."

He couldn't imagine the young-looking Levy, who was always cute, as being some sort of homeless child. He couldn't even picture her as dirty.

Levy continued. "Your sister tracked me down. She helped me get back on my feet and took me to feed. I ended up here. Since she saved me, I owed her a lot. And Cyril had orders for me."

"One of them being to kidnap me?"

"Um…yes."

"Go away now," Dave said scathingly. "I don't know why you're rubbing your pity past on me." He felt horrible for saying such things. But he wanted her to leave. Just by looking at her brought back unpleasant memories and the fun ones as well. And he knew he would start liking her again. He couldn't let that happen; he loved Becky.

"Dave, I don't want to leave you. I came to help," she whimpered.

"Uh-huh, help," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Well, I don't know how you can help me by standing there."

"Dave, please let me-"

"No," he snapped. "Now go."

"I missed you," she said suddenly.

Dave blinked. He stared at the floor and managed to keep his voice low and steady. He didn't know why he was saying this, but he felt glad when the words escaped his mouth.

"I…missed you too, Levy."

"Your uncle went to your university," she breathed suddenly, her eyes growing wide.

"What?" Dave shot up from the bed.

"Yes, he did!" Levy said. "I heard him talking about something with your sister."

"What did he say?" Dave demanded.

"H-He sent the Merlinians a letter and plans to eliminate one of them."

"He wants to _kill my friends?_"

Levy winced. "One of them," she corrected. "And I don't think he means kill. I think he'll do something to throw them off. I don't know."

"How are you helping me?" Dave yelled. "Is this your sort of assistance, telling me how he's going to hurt the people I care about?"

"You care about your family," she whispered.

"No, I don't! Open your eyes, will you, Levy? Since when did I ever care about them, besides my mother?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He searched the drawers for something to wear. He found a suitable jacket and pulled it on hurriedly

"Where are you going?"

"To help them! You said NYU, right?"

"I did, but Dave, you can't possibly leave!" Levy cried.

"Who's here to stop me?" Dave walked right up to her and looked her in the eye.

"Dave…"

"Are you going to stop me?" Dave asked angrily. "Because if you are, Levy, I'm sorry if you get hurt."

She threw up her hands. "Whoa! Hold on, Dave. I'm not fighting you, and you aren't fighting me."

"So? You're gonna get out of my way?"

"I meant that there's a barrier stopping you from leaving," Levy said flatly.

Dave stopped short. "I think I can find a way…around it, maybe."

"You can't, without the assistance of someone with mental abilities."

He remembered what Levy said about the Cruors, them having skills. "You've got them, right?"

"Right," she confirmed.

"Are you going to help me?" Dave hissed through his teeth.

Something glittered in her eyes. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

He felt the corners of his mouth lifting. For the first time since the Grand Canyon episode, he smiled at her.

* * *

Becky sighed as they walked down the hall. "We aren't getting anywhere," she whispered. "Modessa, couldn't you…?"

"I'm sorry, Becky, but no. I can't fight something I don't see."

"We haven't found him yet," she mumbled. She decided not to speak about Balthazar anymore because Veronica twitched.

Becky felt like they had been wandering the halls of the university for hours. They only had so many halls in this place. She also felt a small prick of anxiety. If they didn't find Balthazar… She had never lost Dave before. When he transferred schools, she missed him, but not in the way she missed him now. They were only classmates back then and nothing more. She wanted to see him now. She wanted to know he was safe and sound. The ache in her stomach and mind was almost physically painful. Veronica had lost Balthazar before once, when she had become trapped in the Grimhold. How did she deal with it now? Her shoulders were squared and she seemed quite stoic for someone like her. She had to be tearing up on the inside.

Becky actually felt like crying, but she refused to do so in front of perfect strangers. Modessa Kay didn't bother her a lot, but she didn't know the woman. Rue was definitely someone she didn't want to cry in front of. Modesty, she had no idea about.

"Something's wrong," Rue said. She paused.

Everyone stopped as well.

"What do you mean, Rue?" Modesty asked.

"I mean that I feel like something isn't right," her friend replied. "Doesn't that bin seem familiar to you?"

She was pointing to the garbage bin next to a door. Becky felt a spark of agitation. Why was she putting the search off to halt just for a garbage bin?

"Are you for real, Rue?" Modesty asked. She sounded mad as well.

"Look at the sign on the door. It says Mr. Lonnie. I could've sworn we walked right past that same door and that same bin."

So what? There were a lot of doors here. Becky didn't know what she thought about Rue.

"Oh, goodness," Modessa murmured. "Let us keep walking. We have no time for games."

Rue looked like she was going to protest, but decided not to. As they continued to walk, Becky watched the door. They went up the staircase and exited through the hundredth floor.

They almost finished going through this hall too when Rue shouted, "Look! Look at that and tell me I'm nuts!" She gestured to another door. There was the same sign again and it read Mr. Lonnie. And next to the door was the same bin with the recycling sign.

"You see!" Rue said, her voice smug with victory. "I knew it was the same door!"

"So are you saying…that we've been wandering the same hall the _entire_ time?" Veronica gasped.

"It appears so," Modessa murmured.

Loud footsteps came from the stairs. Soon enough, everyone was armed with plasma bolts. Except for Becky. She wrapped her arms around herself and hoped no one would get hurt.

"_Becky!_"

Her mouth formed an O of surprise as she saw who approached them. It was Dave. Even without the bright light, she'd know it was him.

He penetrated the crowd of Merlinians and hugged her ferociously. She thought she would die from the lack of air, but embraced it. She happily hugged him back.

"Dave," she whispered, "I missed you. Where have you been?"

"I've been held captive by my idiotic, blood-sucking uncle, but that's not the point," Dave said giddily. "I missed you a lot. I'm so glad you're okay. I can't believe I'm actually seeing you."

"Me either," Becky said. Then she kissed him passionately on the lips. It felt like months since they had kissed, although it was only a few… Oh what did she care? He was with her now.

Rue made an annoying sound with her teeth. "Can you guys stop making out already? We need to find Balthazar."

She released Dave immediately.

"Balthazar's gone?" he asked, horror-struck.

"Yes," Becky whispered to him.

"It was my uncle," Dave said. "Levy told me my uncle planned something."

"Levy spoke to you?" Becky asked, enraged. "After she hit you with-"

"I know what she did," he said quietly. "She helped me escape as well. That's why I am here right now. She even told me where Uncle would be."

"Why did she do that? Is Levy here now?"

"No," he said, even more quietly. "We struck a deal after she helped me get out. That would be the only time she helped me, and in return, in the future, I'd have to give her something in return."

"What?" Becky asked, her heart plummeting.

"I don't know. But she wants something in return later on; maybe she's confident she'll get killed by my uncle, and I'll need to stop that from happening."

"Sounds simple enough."

"So what's going on now?" Dave asked.

"We just learned that Balthazar is missing and we've been trying to find him throughout the halls," explained Veronica.

"Veronica! Oh, I'm sorry… And I missed you too." He hugged her, but with less passion.

"So what else?" Dave prompted.

"We've been wandering the same hall for quite some time," Modessa murmured. "It's a trick created by your Cyril, I'm sure."

"Modessa? Aren't you…"

"Yes, it's me. My daughter Modesty and her friend Rue have been keeping an eye on your uncle for a while. We came here to NYU and attempted to help Becky and Veronica."

"Why are the lights out?" Dave asked, his face pale.

"Balthazar shot them when we heard Modesty enter. He thought it was an enemy," Veronica said, tense. "After we met these young ladies, we learned that he had disappeared. But we don't know if it was by his own choice or your uncle's doing."

"It's Uncle," Dave said confidently "I'm positive."

Becky held his hand tightly. "We'll find Balthazar. I promise that."

Dave looked at her with warm brown eyes. Then he grabbed her face and kissed her.

She hungrily kissed him back. She hadn't had him in such a long time.

"Stop that," Rue snapped. "Concentrate on finding Balthazar, okay?"

Becky felt an urge to slap her, but didn't. "I love you," she whispered to Dave after they stopped their kissing.

"Me too. But we _must_ find Balthazar. For us. And Veronica." He snuck a look at her.

"I hope he's all right," Becky whispered.

"He will be. If he isn't, Uncle Cyril will be in terrible shape when I see him." He spoke with such confidence. Becky shivered. She never heard a violent Dave before, especially one being so willing to hurt his uncle. But that was how he felt now. If they didn't find him…

No, they would. She had to believe they would.

"Before we continue…" Becky grabbed his face in the same manner and kissed him.

Rue groaned.

* * *

Thank you all for those reviews! I am always so grateful!

-**TracedScars**


	12. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Been some time since I updated. That's what's expected when writer's block attacks a young teen's mind. Thankfully, I've gotten reviews from new people, which is always nice.

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Being reunited with Becky had been one of the most satisfying things ever. He could see her face again. When he had been running up the steps, he made sure he saw all the levels. They were empty. Dave didn't know if he had been tricked. He had finally found Becky and the others, complete strangers. He ran right past Veronica; for now, he didn't care about her. He only wanted to see Becky and no one else. He pictured their reunion in his head as he ran towards her. His steps felt slow and sluggish although he was near her within a matter of seconds. Then he finally did get to her and kiss her.

Dave could still feel the tingle of his spine, the sweet kiss on his lips, and her arms that had been around him a moment ago. They weren't moving. Veronica tightly introduced him to Modesty, her mother, and Rue, but didn't say anything else. Becky whispered to him that Balthazar was gone and she was trying her best to contain herself. They were stuck because of his uncle. Cyril had placed some sort of trick to make sure they would wander the same hall over and over again. Dave attempted to figure out a solution. He had been running up the stairs and checked the floors, but never actually knew that he had been looking at the same hall Becky had been in. It was dark and they were in the corner investigating the bin and door, so he hadn't been able to get a clear view on them.

They had been standing and discussing what to do. Dave hadn't been so involved in the conversation. At first, he had been entirely focused on finding Balthazar and listening to their theories, as well as ideas. Then, as time progressed, they seemed to get less interested in obtaining his master. Dave himself couldn't help but look at Becky and watch her appear uncomfortable. He kissed her once or twice and she did the same. They spoke about what occurred and how they felt, and Levy as well. That had been a touchy subject. They were more involved with each other than the original topic itself. Dave felt guilty. They should be looking for Balthazar or trying to figure how to get out of this hall. Veronica was all alone, with strangers to rely on and a horrible apprentice who was more into chatting with his girlfriend then find the guy who saved him a countless number of times in the past.

He had a good reason for abandoning the conversation. When he refocused his attention of them, Rue lightly suggested they try to contact Cyril mentally and offer him his nephew in return for Balthazar or his location. Dave had felt his face flare in anger and embarrassment. Becky had ratted Rue out on even thinking of the idea.

"We need to find him," Rue had answered.

Dave wouldn't mind exchanging himself for his master, but he didn't like to idea of being among his family. His distant family whom he did not care for and hated. He despised his father as well, for so many reasons. Like almost murdering his mother… For not caring enough… Either way, he refused to let himself be given away to his uncle and sister, just so he could meet his father.

"_Veronica!_"

Dave's head shot up. He looked around wildly. He only saw the familiar faces of the newcomers, and Becky looking away. Veronica was speaking with Modessa quietly.

He was going crazy.

"_Dave! I'm right here! Turn around._" The voice that spoke for a second time sounded as thick as fog and just as unclear. He could hear the voice's words doubling. His head felt dizzy and heavy.

"Dave, what's the matter?" Becky asked. She turned around. Her eyes were filled with worry.

"I…" Should he tell her? Would she think him as a nut job? Dave was positive the voice was coming from somewhere. It sounded distant and near at the same time. When the voice called his name, he was so close to him, but the rest of his words were far away.

"Tell me," Becky demanded.

"I'm hearing something," he admitted quietly. "Something like a voice."

"You're serious?" Rue asked, bopping over. Her red hair danced around her face.

"Yes," he said bravely. "It kind of sounds like Balthazar."

"Balthazar?" Veronica gasped. She shuffled over to Dave. "Are you sure, David? Perhaps it's an illusion?"

"No, no illusions," Dave promised. "I can definitely hear a voice like Balthazar's."

"Maybe Cyril Stutler is performing a trick?" Modesty inserted.

"It could be. David, your uncle has mental abilities because of his status as a Cruor?" Modessa asked.

"He has that power," Dave said softly. He could clearly remember when he was sleeping in Balthazar and Veronica's guest room, being taunted by his uncle's voice and being forced to say those things to Becky. "But it feels like Balthazar."

"We can't hear anything," Becky said, "but maybe you can. Listen harder."

"DAVE!"

The voice was loud and clear, like the dreaded knocking on Death's door.

"It's him!" he shouted to the group.

"Really?" Rue asked, still doubtful.

"But he isn't here," Modessa murmured. "Even if you can hear him."

"Is he calling out to you?" Veronica asked.

"Yeah! Be quiet, guys, so I can listen to him!" Dave requested. He shut his eyes and concentrated on hearing his master's voice. He heard faint sounds like nimble fingers tapping on glass.

"Dave, I'm close," Balthazar said. His name sounded like his master was right next to him. However, the rest of his words were disoriented and distant. He focused harder.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, in this hall. But there's wall."

"What wall?"

"He's talking to Balthazar?" Becky whispered as not to disturb him.

"Yes… But be quiet," Modesty shot back.

"Tell me about the wall," Dave demanded.

"It's an Seffner Wall," Balthazar said, his voice twisted in different levels of volume. "It's made of an invisible substance that acts as a wall. It's boxing me in and makes sure no one can see the person inside."

"So where's this wall? Maybe I can break it?" There had to be a way to get him out. It relived him to hear that they were near Balthazar.

"You won't be able to feel the wall, but I think you might be able to break it. It requires lots of power," Balthazar warned him.

"Just tell me how to break it, Balthazar," Dave said hurriedly. Every moment he remained trapped, Veronica couldn't see him. She loved him more than anything in the world; he knew she wouldn't be able to bear not seeing him any longer.

"Clear the area. Make sure everyone is far back. They _cannot_ be in the way when you attempt to break the wall."

Balthazar didn't speak. Dave decided he was waiting. He turned to the expectant group.

"Everyone, go against the wall," Dave ordered. "Near the staircase. Balthazar wants me to break the wall because I might be the only one who can; he can't do it when you guys are in the way. It'll cause damage."

Everyone wasted no time. They were at the end of the hall and against the doors of the staircase in a few seconds. Veronica seemed to be a few spaces more in front than required, but Dave guessed it was likely that she wanted to be the first to see him.

"Now what?"

"Think of the wall and breaking it; like a force field being shattered," Balthazar said.

Dave took a deep breath. He didn't want to fail, and it wasn't an option. He shut his eyes and imagined Balthazar in a box, the four walls glowing with energy and looking like gelatin. He held one hand out and let it stay in the air. He didn't feel any kind of wall, but he knew that was the trick. Dave forced himself to picture himself sending a large plasma bolt at the glowering walls. He imagined those walls absorbing the impact at quick speeds, the molecules melting and breaking down, and Balthazar's cell being broken like a fragile glass mirror. Dave could almost see those walls falling to the floor, jagged pieces of the force field being thrown to the ground. He could see Balthazar standing there, appearing to be relived and happy-

Something radiated in his veins. The power coursed through his body and Dave could feel the raging energy pulsing out his hand. He opened his eyes immediately, just in time to see a thick plume of fire dance out of his fingertips and collide with the invisible wall.

And just like in his vision, a silver wall cracked and shattered. Large, uneven pieces dropped to the floor. As they fell, Dave could see black and gray. Finally, all the debris of the magical wall disappeared. Nothing was left to prove Balthazar had been trapped in the first place. But that didn't matter.

"Veronica!" Balthazar's voice was clear as water. He looked ready to mow down everything in his path just to get to her. But he didn't need to; Veronica was already making her way to him. They embraced each other. Dave smiled softly. This was a replay of their own reunion. He looked back and ignored everyone's faces but Becky's. She didn't smile back. Instead, she raced to the passionate couple.

"Balthazar, what's going on? How did you get inside there?" Becky asked.

"It was your uncle," Balthazar said, looking at Dave. "When the lights were out, I was knocked out. I woke up, surrounded by the Seffner Wall."

"No one felt it," Dave said.

"You can't feel it," Balthazar said. "It's a good thing to use when trapping people. The person is inside, in a box, and they can't get out. No one sees them or feels the wall."

"Dave heard you," Veronica said. Her voice was husky as she let him go.

"People inside can be heard if they are really trying," Balthazar explained. "You know that, Veronica. Remember when you tried to put Horvath in one? When he stole your doll?"

"I remember," Veronica said, laughing shakily. "He only got out because you heard his voice."

"So Uncle did this to you?" Dave said. A deep shame settled inside.

"This is _not_ your fault, Dave," Becky reminded him, seeing the expression upon his face. "It was Cyril's." "Balthazar Blake," a voice interrupted. It was Modesty's mother. "You look a lot different from the last time I saw you. Except the mop-hair. That hasn't changed."

Veronica objected, but Balthazar cut her off. "Long time, I know," he said. "We were thirteen when you saw me." He directed his attention at Modesty. "I see you've got more responsibilities."

Modesty blushed. "I'm Modesty Kay."

"I saw you all outside the wall," Balthazar said. He looked at the redhead. "And who is this?" "Rue Carver," Rue said. "How do you feel, Mr. Blake?"

"I'm fine," Balthazar replied. "I just want to know how Dave got here."

Dave launched into a lengthy explanation. When he was finished, Balthazar was nodding and stroking his chin.

"I see," he said. "Your friend helped you out."

"How are you feeling?" Dave asked, attempting to avoid the stare he was getting. "My uncle didn't drink from you, did he?"

It was a random question he threw out to distract Balthazar, but he didn't except anyone to take it seriously. But the group's eyes were all on his master.

"No, there aren't any puncture marks," Balthazar said, unaware that everyone was watching him.

"Are you sure?" Modessa asked. "He needs the blood…"

"He wouldn't drink from Balthazar," Dave said. He wasn't sure if what he was saying was true, though. His uncle forcibly took him away and hated Becky. Was there anything he _wouldn't_ do? "Cyril would comment on how he wouldn't sink to that level. He'd be disgusted by even trying to."

"I'm fine," Balthazar repeated. "I can remove the spell Cyril put on this hall. However, we might have to leave."

"We can leave," Dave said desperately. He wanted to be in his apartment with Becky, cuddling on the couch, warm and happy. He didn't want to be in the dark, cold hall of NYU. "I doubt Cyril's here. He was just messing with all of you." He remembered when his uncle came over to baby-sit. He would bring his chess set and place it on the desk, beckoning Dave to challenge him. He would accept and was always close to winning, but ultimately, Cyril would swap pieces when he wasn't looking and declare himself the winner. Just like old times, Dave thought sadly.

"Let's take them to Dave's lab," Becky suggested. "Then we can tell them about the heirloom."

"What heirloom?" Modessa asked. Her voice was painted with awe.

"Come with us, and we'll tell you," Balthazar said.

"Can I get a say in this?" Dave asked, annoyed. He wasn't really asking for anyone's permission. This was his business. He didn't care if Modessa could help them; he doubted it too. She was only dead weight. She had done him some good by giving him his mother's journal, but besides that, she wasn't supposed to be around anymore. Dave wasn't even sure why Modessa, Modesty, and Rue were here. They weren't going to be any help. Sure, there were safety in numbers, but they were walking in on his life. This wasn't even supposed to get out. Dave's personal life was a secret being inspected by too many people. He realized with a pang of anger that they didn't even feel guilty at all. As long as the humans' safety were involved, they were ready to turn his life upside down. Well, ruin it more than it had already been.

Heads turned. "We don't have a choice," Rue said. "He's killing humans for his thirst. Female humans."

"…So? Even if we stop him, he won't die. He'll just go to some far away place and start drinking from people there," Dave responded. He knew it was wrong to treat ordinary people like dirt, speaking of their lives as if they meant nothing, but it was true. Cyril would take blood from others. He would never die. He was Cruor. They didn't perish so easily.

"Dave…" Veronica began.

"That's what we wanted to talk to you about," Modessa said tightly, her mouth in a thin, angry line. "He will continue to kill people. The only way to stop him…is to murder him."

Dave blinked. "Is this a joke?" he demanded.

"We aren't joking," Rue said. She sounded irritated. It boiled Dave's blood. "What makes you think we would joke about something this serious?" "He's a relative. My uncle," Dave said, attempting to keep his temper under control. He shouldn't lash out at people. He shouldn't yell at anyone. He kept repeating this over and over to himself; he didn't want to appear less civil. He needed to be mature. "You're suggesting to kill my uncle? You know there are more Cruor, correct? It won't help."

"We don't want to kill any other Cruor," Rue snapped. "We just want to get rid of _him._"

That was enough for Dave. Who did this girl think she was, parading about and claiming she wanted to kill his uncle? He abandoned any hopes of keeping himself under control; his pent-up anger ran freely.

"I don't want you in my life," he said, his shouting echoing in the large hall. "I never asked for any of you to come and barge in or to help. And if this is what you call help, you aren't doing such a great job of it. No one will be killing anyone. Cyril can do whatever he want, as long as he doesn't harm any of my friends or Becky-"

"So I see," Rue said calmly. "You don't mind if he sucks the blood out of innocent people, as long as he doesn't come near your little circle of friends." If Dave was merely yelling, he was an incredible explosion now. "Get away from me right now," he said furiously, the rage not in his voice, but still in his body. His voice was glazed over and icy. "I don't want to see your anymore. Especially you. Modessa, sorry, but you have to go. Take your daughter and Rue and please leave. I want you all to mind your own business. I can take care of this myself. And don't give me any crap about how you need to protect the people of New York, because honestly, you couldn't even get yourselves out of this trick hall."

Shooting them a final glare, he spun around and directed himself to the stairs. Dave had no idea where he was going, because the trick wouldn't allow him to go anywhere else but that hall; he knew he had to get out of there, at least. As he walked, he heard crashing sounds of a thousand pieces of broken glass tinkling as they danced to the floor. He kept on walking, somehow. The windows remained intact in the hall. Dave winced as he heard the last pieces of glass made small sounds as they touched the surface of the floor. He heard rising voices behind them. Some were nervous, others were astounded.

As he reached the double doors that blocked the stairs, he heard Balthazar say, in somewhat of an insultingly shocked voice, "…broke the trick by some magical disruption. His anger caused it."

So he released them all, did he? Nice.

Dave felt smug satisfaction swell up inside of him as walked down the stairs. He reached the final floor and left the building of NYU. He passed the sleeping security guard parked inside of the stationed box. Dave smiled faintly as he snored.

He continued down the familiar path that would lead him to his apartment. Dave shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket. He would ditch it when he got home; maybe burn it, if he really didn't want reminders. He would do that. It wasn't his. And his uncle probably touched it.

Dave didn't feel any guilt or abashment as he walked. He still felt angry; only a shred of his fury had been torn off. He wondered how everyone took it over there. He jumped. With a jolt, Dave realized that Balthazar, Veronica, and Becky were going to come after him soon. He would have little time to be alone. They would lecture him on it for sure, simply due to the fact he shouldn't be by himself when he was already taken once. Dave shivered. He didn't think it was a good idea to be wandering the streets of the dark city. But he knew deep inside Uncle or Rachael wouldn't attack. Not now.

Levy, he thought. He had forgotten all about her. Would they hurt her? Kill her?

No! They wouldn't. They needed her alive. And it was her choice to go back. Dave tried to stop her and even requested she come along. But she said no.

Dave didn't know what to do when he got to the apartment. Bennet was there. He perked up at the idea of spending some guy time with his best friend, but Bennet apologetically ducked his head and explained that he had a date with someone named Catherine. Dave glumly said it was okay. The door shut and he was left alone in their tiny apartment. He held the jacket in his hand and imagined it burning. The power of the dragon ring was like fire in his veins. In the back of his mind, he was glad he got it back. Dave watched as the jacket was consumed with orange flames. He didn't feel anything. That was nice.

When he was finished, the jacket looked nothing like clothing. It resembled charred ashes hung on a string. Dave let some of the flakes fall as he walked over to a window and opened it. He threw out the damaged jacket and locked the window when he was finished. Dave protectively stroked his ring, then bent down to sweep the leftover ashes under their couch. He wasn't in the mood for cleaning.

"What do I do now?" Dave asked as he locked the door. He really, really, _really_ didn't want to see anyone who had to do with magic. He didn't even want to see Becky. It was odd, considering he wanted nothing more to kiss her a few minutes ago. Was it his injured emotional state that prevented him from going back to see her? Dave laughed airily. He remembered when his therapist, a kind forty-something woman, said that he was upset due to life at home. Dave had somewhat believed her.

Dave sighed. He got up from the couch and went to every room to lock the windows. He was open to locking the doors as well, but he knew he definitely needed the bathroom, so he abandoned that idea. Dave hurried to lock the kitchen window. He saw New York skyscrapers and gleaming towers, the black night, and the noises of cars. He felt the happiness of home. This was home. Not anywhere else.

As he slowly moved the window down, something shot out. He felt the air brushing his cheek. Dave immediately left the window's side and bent down. On the kitchen floor was a beat-up brown book with a black clasp. Dave blinked as a sense of familiarity washed over him. He knew what this was.

Dave threw himself at the window. He looked out and turned his head in every direction. He only saw blackness. However, when Dave looked down, he could see a distorted figure moving hurriedly, blond hair dancing behind.

* * *

Thanks for everyone who reviewed and read! Till next time! Hopefully.

-**TracedScars**


	13. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE:

_One elder sorcerer around the circle_

_Two younger around the pentagram_

_One raises the dead, the other poisoned love_

_And both, together, go among the damned_

It was the short poem in his mother's journal that could be easily found on the last page of the tattered book. Dave had seen it many times since Modessa had entrusted it to him. He knew that it had been his father who wrote it down; the long-dried ink had been from Damien's fountain pen. And his personal calligraphy couldn't be mistaken for anyone else's writing style. These were the features that marked it as his father's own poem. But it was on his mother's journal, the pages that had every description of her life, post-marriage. Dave couldn't shake off the feeling. He thought it was wrong for Damien to be inside of something that had clearly belonged to his mother. Of course, Dave could be labeled as a hypocrite. Here he was, peeking into Gwen's journal for the hundredth time. He had seen the familiar pages before, and could probably recite without looking.

Dave was sitting, cross-legged, on the couch. Gwen's journal was sitting in his lap. He had already shut and locked the window which the book had come from. He still couldn't believe it was Levy who had thrown it. Was she insane? She said she owed something towards Rachael, had to obey Cyril, yet here she was, risking her life by giving him the journal. It was admirable, Dave had to admit, but stupid and overt all the same. Why was she helping him? Wasn't putting herself in danger by assisting in his escape already enough? Levy _was_ bonkers, Dave decided mentally. He shook off his thoughts on her and went back to reading the page.

It was one he had picked out at random. On this page was Gwen's detailed paragraph on how much fun and excitement she'd had on her honeymoon. The Bahamas, Dave recalled. Damien had took her on a lovely trip to the Bahamas. The happy couple had enjoyed a number of activities there. Dave snorted as he reread the descriptive traits. He couldn't picture his dad on an island, wearing the stereotypical tourist shirt decorated with pineapples.

Although he had never seen his father participate in many activities, Dave bet that Damien never truly enjoyed his honeymoon. He was probably there, emotionally, but his thoughts must have been somewhere else, far away. It was impossible that such a cold, distant man could love an outgoing, warm woman like Gwen. It was impossible that Damien could have went through human sports at all. He was a Morganian. A sorcerer who was all into magical leisure and activities.

Dave flipped pages. He eventually stopped on one that highlighted the events of one week. Gwen complained about how her baby was giving her all sorts of troubles. She wasn't serious about those whines because at the end of the page, she lovingly dubbed her baby as "her personal nudger". Dave smiled. Gwen loved Rachael just as she had loved him. He had read the journal enough to know that his nickname before birth was "Nudger II". He lovingly stroked the page. Those must have been the happy times. He missed Mom. He yearned for her laugh lines, her smile, and the way she joked about. He even missed how she insisted on not dying her gray hairs like the other moms, something that had embarrassed him when he was a kid.

Dave went on to some more pages. These were about her relationship with Damien. She had been very detailed on these parts, probably much more so than the rest of the pages. Gwen described their lives together as "hectic with two kids but lovable all the same. We can't lose touch with each other, not even for a minute. It's impossible for us."

"What happened to you, Damien?" Dave asked himself softly. "Why did you have to go and try to kill Mom?"

He had been in the kitchen. Mom said they shouldn't move about in the middle of the night. The only exceptions had been in case of emergencies or bathroom trips. But Dave never bothered to listen that much. He had decided he wanted to get a glass of water. A tall glass of water; the same glass of water that would inevitably land him in the bathroom for two hours.

He heard some noises. Dave had finished his drink and was lingering by the doorway. He looked up to see his father and his mother. They were at the end of the room, where another doorway could be located. That one led to the living room. He wondered what they were doing up so late. Dave quickly rummaged through his brain for an excuse to use when they would catch him. But apparently, they never did. His parents were arguing in soft voices. They didn't even notice him; but how could they? The lights were still off.

"Damien, you've got to be kidding me," Gwen had said. Her voice had been urgent and motherly. As it always had been since the birth of her kids.

His father, on the other hand, spoke with a tight voice. "No, I am not joking with you. This has been coming for months, Gwen. Don't tell me you thought you could avoid it."

Avoid what? Dave had thought, mystified. He should have left like a good, scared kid. But he was curious. He stuck around, quietly standing at the doorway.

"I wasn't trying to avoid anything. Delay, maybe," his mom had answered. Now she sounded plain tired. "This is happening too suddenly, too fast. Rachael is only a young child. She can't handle this kind of-"

And then she used a word so filthy that Dave had to grin like the Cheshire cat. This could be used as some good blackmail in the future.

"Gwendolyn, please," Damien had sighed. "She wants to learn. She's so excited. When children are young, they love magic and want it to exist. As they grow, they abandon any idea of magic occurring. Do you know how great this is for her?"

Dave was stunned by these words. He didn't understand any of it.

"Honey," Gwen had retaliated. "I don't want my kids to juggle responsibilities. How can Rachael learn and balance schoolwork, friends, and family at the same time?"

"Rachael is an excellent student. Schoolwork isn't a problem. And frankly, she doesn't seem to care so much about leaving her friends out of the equation."

"I don't want my daughter to drop everything for magic, Damien! Get that into your head," she whispered fiercely.

"Listen to yourself," Damien sneered. "Selfish behavior, sweetheart. Imagine how disappointed Rachael will be when her own mother tells her magic is out of the question. She'll cry, I bet. She'll hate you for the rest of her life."

"Don't pull the ultimatum trick on me, Damien James Stutler!" Mom had snapped.

"What about our son? When you cut magic out for him? He'll be just as upset. You aren't thinking about them, Gwen. You're thinking about yourself."

"I am so sick and tired of you-"

"Humans are impossible creatures," his father had said tartly. "They make many mistakes and don't apologize for half of them. And they always say they're sick, they're tired, they're bothered. Are they really? Or are they selfish, horrible beings?"

"Mistakes? Shut up, Damien. You don't know what you're talking about. I make mistakes, but I'm-"

"Only human, I know. And that's exactly the problem."

Dave had stared, wide-eyed, as his father struck out at her. He hit her with something shiny and red. Dave watched as his mother hit the floor, her entire body contorted. He began to cry at this point. He would never forget the look of pain on his mother's face. He ran towards her, ignoring his father. He bent at Gwen's side and tried to do something. He thought about calling 911. Dave had gotten up to search for the home phone. When he did that, he got a clear view of his father's face, despite it being incredibly dark. There was a look of deep malevolence. It made his features pointed and his eyes appear as pools of black poison. He was stunned by it; he had even stood, paralyzed, just because of the terrible face. His father smiled at him. Then he left the kitchen.

Dave had looked back at Mom. She was no longer twisted and hurt. She looked tired and wrecked now. She had gotten back up on her feet and struggled to get to the stairs. Her hand was on her back. She was like an old lady, he remembered. Her skin was so pale, too. Dave had tried to help her.

"Mom! Let me call an ambulance or something!" he had cried.

She gave him a forced smile, although at the time, he hadn't realized it was unnatural. "It's okay, baby," she had said. "I just slipped and fell."

"Dad-"

"Daddy had nothing to do with this. He wasn't even here, silly goose," his mother had said, attempting to chuckle.

Dave hadn't tried to argue. He saw there were still after-effects of the pain. He helped his mother to her bedroom. She went into bed and kissed him on the forehead.

"He almost killed you," Dave had mouthed.

"No," she whispered to him. "Honey, forget what you saw. It was a trick of the dark light. Nothing happened. You're just sleepy, is all."

He wanted to press her further on the issue. He was convinced he wasn't hallucinating. He knew what had happened, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. His mom insisted on it. And if she wanted to forget what happened, he would do as she wanted. Dave had left without saying goodnight. He went directly to his room and hid under the covers.

Dave didn't remember the next morning. He wondered why Mom didn't run away after what he did. She knew about the magical world, but never knew what side he was truly on. He was one of those who used magic for their own purposes and didn't involve themselves in the battle. That's what he had told her. His father had lied. He was a dirty, no-good, low-down liar with zero morals and a bad odor about him. Even the monsters would run away from him.

"Dad, I hate you," he said out loud. "I hate you so much."

Gears turned in his mind. Dave leaped up from the couch. He felt a chill run down his spine; but it wasn't the bad kind. He wondered how he could stop his father when he was released from his little prison. Modessa had given the box of sand to him and only him. She had entrusted it to him.

"This is the object that keeps your father within," she had said in a grave voice. "I have recovered it; I know you'll be able to hold on to it. I feel as if this is yours for the keeping." She had handed it to him, along with the journal.

The box was his. Therefore, he had to be the one who had to deal with the being trapped inside. Rachael wouldn't deal with him. Cyril had no personal ties with him; a sibling's relation was useless. And no one else would directly take him on. So Dave had to be the one to kill him.

And for some reason, the prospect excited him. He was the one, the only one, who could make sure he would not harm others. Dave was sure it would amount to something. His father had hurt his mother in an attempt to kill her. He wanted her dead, and didn't even take her feelings into consideration when magic was mentioned. Dave shuddered when he realized that if Damien had never been trapped inside the box, he would have turned him into a Morganian just like he'd done with Rachael.

Dave pushed the journal off his lap and onto the coffee table. He needed to practice. He hurried to his room and ransacked the place. He finally found what he was searching for: the Incantus. It was sitting under his bed, being swarmed by dust bunnies. Dave picked it up, blew off the dust and cobwebs, and brought it with him to the living room. He grimaced at the idea of searching through the thousand pages for one simple trick. However, he would, if he wanted to learn the two things that would ultimately kill Damien.

* * *

"This is the final stage," Cyril murmured to Rachael. "You have everything?"

"I have everything," Rachael confirmed. Even with gloves on, she could feel her palms growing slippery. Sweat dabbed at her forehead and ran down the nape of her neck. She thought this was happening much too fast. But she had been holding it off for much too long; Dave was lucky he had a sister who actually did what he requested. However, he wouldn't be pleased for long when Damien came out. Rachael inwardly shuddered at the thought of their confrontation. He was the Prime Merlinian, for goodness sake! How would Damien react? She knew it wasn't pretty; he had quite the temper.

"Well, finish up," her uncle said. "We need him out soon."

As he spoke, Rachael poured the remaining liquid from the potion bottle into the teacup. It filled it all the way to the top. She picked up the teacup carefully and slowly carried it to the box of sand. The box was resting on the pentagram. When Rachael neared the red flames, they danced, eagerly lapping up the hem of her coat. Rachael glared at them before gently spilling the contents of the cup on the box. The flames hissed.

The tiny blue crystals inside seemed to glow as the pentagram's flames touched the sides of the box. Rachael took a few steps back. The blue sand began to turn into smoke.

The smoke rose out of the box. The flames happily surrounded the foggy figure as it twisted around to form a more concrete shape. Rachael felt her head grow heavy. Was this an effect of the spell?

Rachael threw a glance at Cyril. His eyes were wary and cautious, but she sensed something. Excitement pulsed throughout his body. Rachael wondered briefly what he had to be excited about. Sure, there was his twin being brought out of his prison. But most siblings don't get along. Was Cyril hoping for something if Dad got out?

The smoke finally assumed the shape of a tall, slender man. The thick air finally lifted and floated up to the ceiling, passing through it as if it were a mere obstacle. Rachael watched it leave. This was it. The thing that had kept her father trapped was gone. He was with them now. But why didn't she feel…as happy as Cyril did? Why did she feel this fire burning in her heart? Rachael blushed. This was too stupid, she thought. She was definitely not regretting anything. And what fire? In her heart? Yeah, right. Only jitters due to not seeing her dad for so long.

The man that stood in front of her looked exactly like Dad. He hadn't changed, even after being stuck inside a crystal cage. He had the same sleek, black hair that covered one eye like an inky wave. His features were still as pointed as ever and his eyes were the same brown. It was not clouded like Cyril's, but just as unfathomable. Dad's skin was pale, but it had always been that way. Living in the 1800s had turned everyone into marble-white statues. He was dressed in a sharp, clean business suit that only allowed for gray, white, and black colors. _Looks just like when he did when I was little,_ Rachael thought.

"Cyril," her father said slowly. The name rested on the tip of his tongue. He sounded as if he didn't trust anyone in the room. "Where is David?"

Yes, where was his one and only son? Rachael felt the lightest touch of regret. She should have kept a better eye on him. She should've stayed home and watched him, so he could be present when they're father was let out. But she hadn't. Rachael hadn't wanted to stay with him. It would've made her feel only a bigger of a loser.

"He was here," Cyril answered. He was confident. "We had him here so he could speak with you. Unfortunately, Levyette had fled to get her needed blood, so you two couldn't communicate at the time. Rachael went to get the rest of the ingredients and I needed to meet someone. When we both returned, Levy and David were nowhere in sight. I suspect she let him out."

Rachael opened her mouth slightly. He forgot the journal. She was ready to tell Dad about it, but Cyril shot her a sharp look. It was a warning. She instantly recognized it. Rachael felt herself deflate, but something was burning inside of her again. She panicked as she wondered, _Why isn't he mentioning the journal? Why did he leave that out?_ When she looked back at her father, who was still and cautious, she realized a moment too late that he never knew Mom had kept a journal.

But why wasn't Cyril informing him anyways?

"I wanted to speak with my son," Dad said. Disappointment colored his tone. For the first time since arriving, he showed a true streak of emotion. "And Levyette? She is responsible for this?"

"I just said that, yes," Cyril muttered, rolling his cloudy eyes. Rachael resisted the urge to smile. Just like her and Dave when they were smaller. "But not to worry, dear brother. She won't be dead weight for long."

"Wait," Rachael said, speaking up. "What do you mean by that?"

"Pay attention, Rachael," Cyril said. "What do you think someone means when they say that?"

She blushed madly. "Stop harassing me, Uncle. I know what you mean, but I don't understand how you can say it so casually."

"Feeling bad for the Cruor girl, Rachael?" her father asked softly. "Even after she betrayed you both? I was looking forward to talking with David and now that opportunity is gone."

"I'm not feeling pity for her at all!" Rachael snapped. "But how can you want to kill her, Cyril? She still owes me. She hasn't done a lot, and there are plenty of other things she can still do to repay me."

"Well, I won't let some little girl get away with this," Cyril replied. He took out his vial and lifted the glass cup off a dusty table. He poured thick blood into the glass, then took a long sip. "It's quite clear."

"And I won't settle for my payment to be cut out," Rachael retorted. "Sorry, Cyril, but she has to repay me completely. _I_ saved her and guess what? I still haven't been given what I fully want."

"Get whatever deeds she needs to do done, then," Cyril said, taking another swig from the cup. When he finished, he licked the red off his lips. "I'm giving that girl a short time to live."

"And what do you propose to do now?" Dad asked softly. Rachael stared at him. Had he been watching them speak for the whole time?

"I plan on getting our heirloom," Cyril answered. "The whole idea of reuniting everyone was just for the item. You know just as well as I do that we can't control the city without it."

"Overt, Cyril," Dad answered. He walked over to them. The clicking noises were ordered. He came face-to-face with his brother and his mouth turned up in a delicate smile. "I'll find the heirloom and _you_ can go ahead and bring me David."

Cyril downed the remaining liquid and dropped the cup back on the table. Rachael was surprised it didn't break into pieces. He pushed the oak door aside and it groaned. He left the two of them.

"Well, hello," Rachael said. She was a little upset, to say the least. Didn't her father even want to greet her? As soon as he got out, all he wanted to speak about was the heirloom and _Dave._ What on earth was so special about the guy? She attempted to rationalize. It's true that Dad could've only wanted him to complete the process with the heirloom. That was right. But he didn't need to speak with him, did he?

"Rachael. I've missed you. Look at your hair. It's grown a lot," Dad noted.

Comments on her hair? That's all she deserved? "Looking forward to seeing Dave?" she asked through her teeth.

"You know the answer," he said, smiling. "Does he have someone on the line?"

"A girlfriend," Rachael answered sourly. "She's… Well, when you see him, you can ask him yourself." She was wickedly pleased with the idea of Dad confronting Dave about his human girl.

"She is human, correct?"

"One hundred percent," Rachael said, glowing.

"I should talk to him about that. We haven't seen each other for so long."

_You haven't seen your daughter for so long. Haven't you got anything to say to her?_ Rachael wanted to cry out.

"Rachael?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Please make sure not to harm David," her father replied, inspecting the room. "I really don't want him to be bloody when I met with him."

"What about the human girl?" Rachael asked. Surely she was allowed to get rid of her, at least?

"Do not harm anyone," he said firmly. "I want everyone alive until I can deal with them on my own. Even the human girl," he added, to make matters clear.

"Fine," Rachael mumbled.

She watched him move towards the oak door. He paused, and briefly touched her on her cheek. It was an affectionate gesture, but it sadly lasted for only a minute. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Rachael felt her entire frame tremble. She turned on her heel. Stupid little brother. He was a nuisance. Well, she could fix that problem just fine.

* * *

Well, that was something, wasn't it?

-**TracedScars **


	14. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

Modesty Kay could have hit her childhood and lifetime best friend if she was actually into unnecessary violence. She had winced and shook her head while Rue had fought with the Stutler guy. She hadn't intervened, of course; that had been between her and David. She was also afraid at what've occurred if she did.

But now that he had left, Modesty was teeming with rage. She should have done something. It would have been better than letting Damien's son leave; he would surely be found by a relative. And what would they do? Bring him in front of Damien. She knew he had been released. A sharp, cold sensation had raced down her spine and through her veins. Mother had felt it. So had Rue.

"Damien's been let out," her mother said, her mouth pulling down. She was obviously upset by the fact. "Can you feel it, Veronica? Balthazar?"

"I felt it," Veronica said quietly.

Balthazar agreed. "But why is it like this? We've never been able to feel a Morganian's release before."

"This situation is different," her mother replied as she grimaced. "This was a blood cage that held him."

Modesty was unfamiliar with the word. She wondered if Mother had taught it to her before, and she had forgotten; it had happened when she wasn't keenly listening to Mother's lectures.

"Excuse me," Becky interrupted. Her eyes were narrowed into sharp, intimidating slits. For a moment, she did indeed look like an angered Merlinian instead of the weak human girl she was. "But my boyfriend is in danger. Care to explain this term?"

She sure is sassy, Modesty thought, as she isn't cowardly. Most humans liked to shy away from dangers and threats. They preferred to be involved with the wonderful, useful parts of magic, and conveniently disappear when the menace arrived. Modesty liked it that this Becky wasn't the kind to hide when peril came, but she knew somewhere inside that she would probably end up as the victim in all of this. Humans were too delicate for their own good.

"A blood cage is a prison that keeps the person in an item," Mother said. "Like the box of sand that Damien was kept in. A sorcerer or sorceress takes their blood and infuses it within an ordinary object. It will lock someone inside, but blood isn't the only element required to create the cage."

"…What else?" Becky asked tensely.

"A life," her mother said softly. "Specifically, the conjurer's life."

"But who imprisoned Damien Stutler?" Rue asked. She seemed unaware of her earlier mistake. In fact, she had moved off that encounter immediately.

"Who knows?" Modesty answered before her mother could. "Mom only said that a group of Merlinians trapped Rachael in the Cell, but no one who's familiar with Damien Stutler knows who got to him. He himself is possibly the only one who knows."

"Oh… Shouldn't we go after Dave?" Becky asked, her temper visibly rising. Modesty resisted the urge to duck. "If he's in danger?"

"We should," Balthazar said. "But understand, Modessa, that Dave doesn't appreciate your entering. Or Rue Carver's. Or your daughter's. Let us get to him first and we can calm him down."

Modesty had a feeling he still wouldn't allow them to get involved. She frowned. Although Rue could be very rude and or demanding, she was helpful. Modesty didn't know if she particularly liked this David Stutler. He was turning down some great help, and her mother did a lot for him. Then again, Modesty countered mentally, why would he want the prison that kept his father? Maybe Dave was angry because he hadn't wanted anything to do with his family? Was he angry at Mother for even giving the box to him?

"Here's what I propose: Balthazar and his group go get Dave," Modesty unexpectedly said. "Mother and I will try to find this heirloom they are so desperately after. Dave told us about that, remember?"

"That would be great," Becky said. Surprisingly, her voice wasn't tainted with sarcasm as Modesty expected it would be. "Except you don't know where it is."

"Actually…I think I do," Modesty murmured uncertainly. "Veronica told us about this lady, Charlotte Markov, who wrote this book on magic. And it spoke of a Stutler heirloom kept by a Stutler woman, right?"

"Yes," Veronica answered, watching her carefully. "What do you expect to do, Modesty? That woman lives in another country."

"I don't think that heirloom is the heirloom Cyril wants," Modesty said slowly. She had placed the puzzle pieces all in her mind before jamming them together. Hopefully she would be correct. "I don't think Rachael or Damien want that one either."

"Why wouldn't they…" Balthazar left his sentence hanging. His eyebrows knit together as he tried to sort everything out. Perhaps he was thinking of his apprentice at the same time too.

"Because if they wanted it, they would have left New York already," Becky finished, her eyes alight with realization. Her tone was stunned. "So that means the heirloom they want is…somewhere around here?"

"Yes," Modesty said excitedly. "That's the reason they haven't left. What they want is right here, but I don't think they know where it is. If they did, they obviously would have gotten it already."

"You're right," her mother murmured. Modesty felt a swell of pride, but it didn't last for long.

"Where do you think this heirloom is?" Rue asked.

Modesty felt her shoulders sag. "Well, here's the thing: I'm not positive, but I might have a few clues."

"Continue," Veronica urged.

She inhaled deeply. _Please let them believe me!_

"Charlotte Markov seems to be in the know about magic and stuff like that, but she never mentioned Merlinians or Morganians," she said hurriedly, her words stringing together as she moved along with her rushed explanation. "There are three obvious reasons to why that is, but I can't confirm which one it is. One, she knows about it because she's a sorceress herself and isn't an idiot enough to reveal herself. Two, she doesn't know about Merlinians or that other stuff, but she has only an inkling about true magic. Three, she's a huge phony, but was able to get an interview with this Stutler woman."

"Isn't there another reason?" Becky asked. "What if she's a human, like me, and she was smart enough to keep the big parts to herself?"

It was Rue who answered that question. "Because," she said. "Most humans that actually know about the reality of magic get killed in the future."

"I'm not dead," Becky pointed out dubiously.

"Yet," Rue added. "It seems like sooner or later, any human that knows is killed."

Becky didn't wince at her words. She instead crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Modesty.

"Please continue."

Modesty gladly did. She didn't want any more trouble to break out. After this was done, she was teaching Rue how to act properly. "Anyways, Charlotte Markov. I have that book of hers at home. Mother has it on her shelves, but she never actually took a look at it. Was too busy with the Incantus." She shot her mother a glance, but she was invested with her own thoughts. "Mother, Rue, and I have been in a lot of places, dealing with Morganian-Merlinian related troubles. Like when a member of a magic family decides she wants to be a Merlinian, when her father is clearly a Morganian. That's just an example I'm throwing out. We go and deal with their problems and then we leave. We don't actually kill the Morganian who hasn't caused any trouble… Against our code or something. Okay, back on topic. Since we've been through a lot of towns and cities and countries, I couldn't help but feel this nagging thought in the back of my mind. It turns out that there is a temple called the Sasha C. Markov Temple that we've been to. Inside of it is this beautiful clock that is on the wall."

Rue's eyes widened. "That's the clock we saw while we were vacationing."

"Vacationing and attempting to help a Merlinian family with Morganian twin sons," Modesty reminded them. "But that isn't the point. The point is that the temple must have the heirloom. We aren't sure, but I've got a really strong feeling about it."

"Never ignore feelings like that," her mother suddenly said. "Balthazar, what do you think?"

"I think that Modesty's hint is as strong as ours," he replied, "but we should trade places."

"Is that a smart idea?" Becky asked him. "I mean, Dave and Rue just had a bit of an argument, and I doubt he'd want to see her."

"A problem he'll have to deal with," Veronica said in a steely voice. It surprised Modesty, and probably everyone else but Balthazar. "I understand what Balthazar is saying. Imagine if Cyril gets to the clock at the same time you three do. Imagine what kind of confrontation would play out. We have more of an insight to this situation than you do. If we go and meet Cyril or Dave's sister or his father, we know what to say. We can somehow work their emotional strings to our advantage; we know Dave. We know how he feels about them. You, on the other hand, have only known Dave for a short amount of time."

"That's…a good idea," Rue said.

"Okay, fine," Mother said. "You three, get going towards the temple, whereas we will find David. I know where he lives."

"Give us directions to the temple," Becky demanded. Modesty launched into the address immediately. She repeated it three times over. Balthazar and Veronica seemed to be memorizing it while Becky hurried to get it down in her own head.

"All right," Modesty said when they finished. "We should really hurry. What if something beats Dave to his place?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. They all bounded down the stairs like a pack of animals. When they were outside of the university, Rue turned around and muttered something that sounded like, "Good luck to you all."

And surprisingly, Becky replied, "The same to you."

Who knew? Rue had some manners. But it was no time for jokes. Her mother tugged on her arm. They were going to use magical transportation, since using a portal would take too long. Modesty and Rue braced themselves for a dizzy after-effect.

Within seconds, they were gone.

* * *

Dave collapsed into a nearby chair. He grinned to himself. He was completely satisfied with the progress he was making. If only Balthazar was here to see… He shoved the thought away. There was no time for any of that nonsense. He had to continue with the spell. Dave wiped away the sweat that was on his forehead, and rubbed the nape of his neck clean too. Dave stood up uneasily and went back to the Incantus. He already memorized the Seffner Wall spell after thirty-five tries. It had taken him some time to actually project the spell itself, but so far, it was working out slowly and rationally. Dave smirked as he hurried to Merlin's Circle. He was getting along better by himself than training with Balthazar. And his master claimed he had no focus! He'd show him. Maybe he could even put Balthazar back in the Wall to get some alone time with Becky later on.

"Stop thinking of them," Dave commanded himself. "We need to get this spell down." He pretended he grabbed all his thoughts and locked them inside of a box that remained in his head. It was childishly done, but it worked. When Dave entered the Circle, his mind was empty and cleared of anything that might serve as a distraction. The way to create the Wall was actually simple; all it took was an arm gesture. Of course, it wasn't so easy to keep the Wall from falling down.

Dave's arm shot out and slashed against air. His hand was positioned in a certain way that might mean he was swatting a fly away. The dragon ring glowed angrily. Dave could feel the energy leaving him; the same energy that would be used to construct the Seffner Wall.

To other people, they couldn't see the Wall. Not even sorcerers. Only the person creating it could actually see it. Dave knew this as he took the time to study every aspect and sentence of the Seffner Wall. He stayed put to make sure he was trapping successfully. To substitute for a person, he used his dog as a replacement.

The walls sparkled like luminous diamonds. They were flexible and made the same noises pure force fields would make. They rose like silk blankets off the floor. A box surrounded his dog now. Tank growled. He may not be able to see it, Dave thought, but he sure can sense something. Tank continued to bark at the walls he couldn't see. Dave felt pity for him.

"Sorry, Tank," Dave apologized. "But it's for the greater good."

The Seffner Wall was finished. It wavered slightly. Tank leapt up and scratched at the walls. He even tried to bite at it.

"Bad dog!" Dave said, although he knew nothing except large power from the outside could break it.

Tank stayed put. He didn't seem to like it. He kept watching the walls with suspicious eyes. Finally, Dave saw that the walls collapsed. He frowned and attempted to start again, but Tank scampered away. He yelped, pleased to be free of the cursed Seffner Wall.

"TANK!" Dave cried. "Come on, it wasn't that bad!"

He didn't pursue the dog. Instead, he hurried to the Incantus and looked at another page he had dog-eared. The spell was written in dark, bold letters to ensure the person reading knew what he was looking at. Dave grimaced at the page, but he really didn't have a choice. Dave fingered the page and wondered what Balthazar would think. Would he be horrified to learn that his apprentice was trying to figure out a dark spell such as this? What about Veronica? He didn't really know Veronica all that well; they got along just fine and she made sure he was on track of schoolwork and stuff like that, but there was nothing else. Dave was positive that when he finally learned and performed this spell, it would ruin whatever good relationship they had established. And Becky. Dave's heart began to pump a little bit faster. What on earth would Becky think of him? He had a clear goal and he knew what he wanted to do with this spell. But Becky would view him as…a villain. He'd be no better than Horvath. Dave felt a lump rise in his throat. She didn't understand. Neither did Balthazar or Veronica. They didn't have to face a father who almost killed his wife. They didn't have to deal with anything he had to. They got off lucky. Why did their opinions matter? It was his life.

Dave's fingers tightened around the page. It started to create a few rips. Dave made a final decision and with the flick of his wrist, tore off the page. He held it in his fist and made his way up the stairs. He shut the door, but didn't lock it. Dave went to his room in the apartment and grabbed a jacket. He stuffed the page inside the pocket. Dave hadn't practiced the spell at all, but something inside of him told him he'd be able to do it just fine. With that, Dave snatched his cell phone off the coffee table in the living room. He knew where he was going to go.

* * *

Modesty was the first to reach the apartment, since she had been the first to be transported. She thought about waiting for Rue and her mother, but decided against it. She needed to find Dave right away. Modesty pushed through the double doors and threw herself at a random person in the lobby. She could hear footsteps coming nearer and nearer. Rue, or her mother.

"Excuse me!" she said to the frail-looking elder. "But do you know which room is David Stutler's?"

"The Stutler boy?" the grandmotherly woman asked, looking faintly surprised. "Why, yes, he lives on the thirteenth floor, 13D."

"Thanks a ton," she told the woman. Modesty bounded up the stairs and screamed over her shoulder, "Really, thanks!"

The apartment should have held an elevator at the least. It was impossible to get up to the stairs without a functioning mechanical device to bring her up there by itself. Seriously, what was the use of today's technology if no one bought it? Modesty forced herself to continue, even though she was already exhausted.

Modesty almost tripped on a stair when she reached the twelfth floor. She caught herself and hurried on. She could hear Rue and her mother panting as they ran up the stairs as well. When Modesty got to the final floor, she was drenched with sweat. Modesty knocked on 13D. Nothing. She knocked again.

"David!" she yelled. "Dave, it's me, Modesty!"

The door opened quickly. Modesty's eyes widened and gratitude filled her bones. Unfortunately, she was disappointed with the person in front of her.

A dark-skinned, young man was there. "Hello?" he said, looking somewhat confused.

"My name is Modesty Kay, is David here?" she asked in a rush.

He seemed alarmed now. "Dave? I came here a few minutes ago and he passed by on the way out. You just missed him."

"Please, do you know where he went?" Someone else took her question. Modesty looked over her shoulder and saw Rue.

"Um, I asked him about it. When he ran down the stairs, he mentioned something about… I dunno, a temple?"

"You have_ got_ to be kidding me," Rue snapped. "He went there? Are you serious?"

"He's on his way," the guy said, shrugging. "Sorry. But hey, maybe you can still catch him."

"We missed him," Modesty repeated. "And he's heading to the temple."

"Hey, do you know him?" the man asked. "I could give him a call. He took his phone with him."

"Oh, please do!" Modesty said while Rue shouted, "Finally!" The guy gave them weird looks, but he did dial the number. He put it on speakerphone. Modesty shifted her weight from one foot to another. Rue didn't look nervous. Her face was a mask. Eventually, her mother arrived.

"So many ladies," the guy murmured. "I didn't think Dave had this many female friends."

Rue kind of smiled. "We just met him."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Rue answered, leaning against the chipped wall.

"Well, maybe you can meet me," the guy said slyly. "I'm Bennet."

Jesus! Modesty ignored his flirtatious attempts and focused on the ring of the phone. Dave still hadn't picked up.

"Rue Carver," her friend replied. Modesty shot her a glare. Why was she flirting at a time like this? And she rarely flirted!

"Rue," her mother warned dangerously.

"Calm down, Modessa. So Bennet, is Dave gonna pick up anytime soon?"

Before Bennet could answer, something miraculous happened. Dave's voice was heard.

"Bennet, this isn't the time."

"I've got three girls… Two girls, and a woman here that say they want to know where you are. I told them but I don't-"

"Dave, please stop," Modesty begged. "You have no idea where you are going."

"To the temple," Dave answered. "I know. You see, I've recently learned where I need to go."

"How?" Rue demanded.

"In my mother's journal," he said. "It says my father took her there once to view the famous heirloom of the Stutler family. And I know what he's here for. I don't need your help. Please just go away. Balthazar and-"

"Balthazar is on his way," Modesty's mother interrupted. "And I won't have you hurting yourself for some silly idea of yours. David, stop in your tracks."

"I am not having someone tell me what to do. I'm almost there; don't call again."

"No, your father! Your father, he's been released," Rue shouted.

"I felt something strange. I didn't know why, but I do now. Listen, Rue, thanks for trying to help, but I don't need it."

"David-" Modesty was cut off immediately.

"No! Listen, I've got this plan. Okay, I'm going to go."

"WAIT! Before you leave, tell us what you're going to do!" Rue screamed.

"Can't launch into all the details," Dave said hurriedly. "But I'll give you this: It's the Parasite Spell, okay? Bye."

With that, he hung up. A dead, deep silence filled the corridor. Rue glared at the phone before looking at Bennet.

"Was he talking about some spell?" Bennet asked. "Is this about some Wizards and Warcraft-"

"Thanks for your help, Bennet," Rue said. She aimed at him with her ring and a loud explosion rocked the corridor. Modesty fell. She looked up to see Bennet with a dazed expression upon his face. He shook his head quickly and then blinked.

"What's going on?" he asked. He seemed to sway a little. "Am I drunk?"

"Yeah, yeah, a little," Rue said. She prepared to leave.

"I'm…I'm Bennet," Bennet introduced, smiling sneakily.

"I'm Rue!" she shouted on the top of her lungs as she ran down the steps. "Rue Carver!"

Mother pulled Modesty to her feet and together, they raced after Rue down the stairs.

* * *

The temple was constructed of entirely of metal and steel. It wasn't even a temple. The thing was similar to a skyscraper, complete with a tapering point made of gleaming steel. It had no trace of brick or any substance similar to that. In fact, it looked like a thousand men came together to create the beauty. Just like in ancient times, when Romans had no way to make their ageless structures of magnificence. Dave didn't even bother to admire the piece of work. The temple scared him. Inside, he knew he was going to deal with Damien Stutler. He knew that sooner or later, he would arrive. Dave wondered what kind of people came into this temple. And who was Charlotte Markov? What connections did she have with magic? Dave decided to ignore all that. He looked over his shoulder and saw the setting sun. Dave felt deep longing fill his bones. He felt his cell phone grow cold in his hand. He texted Becky:

Sorry for leaving u like that. I have to do something really important and if u love me, please don't come to the temple. Damien will HURT u, k? Sorry. Love you. I'm at my apartment.

He pressed the send button, then removed the SIM card from his phone. He threw the useless object into a nearby trash can. The card soon joined it. Dave watched it without feeling regret. He took a deep breath, then pushed aside the heavy doors.

"Dave! Decided to join us?"

It wasn't Damien. It wasn't even Cyril. It was Rachael.

And there was Levy, shackled and at her feet, her blond hair in Rachael's gloved hand. The other hand held a knife that was near Levy's throat.

Dave felt his body drain of color. He was ice-cold. His numb fingers trembled. Dave was sure his eyes were as large as sand dollars.

"Rachael," he said in his best steady voice, "what are you doing to Levy?"

"This little rat hasn't paid her debt to me. Now, she is."

"Come on, Rachael. Let her go."

"Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? A little boy, my baby brother, challenging his older sister?" Rachael smiled.

He was on thin ice. He could barely contain himself. It was difficult to control his voice. "Are you mad because she let me go?"

"That's wrong, Davey," Rachael said, her voice a puff of fog. "I don't care about that, or the fact she handed Gwen's journal to you."

"Why is she here?"

"She's here because this is how she'll pay off her debt. Well, half of it anyways," Rachael said. "The other half will be much too gory for your childish eyes."

"Let her go, Rachael!" Dave snapped.

"Want to know how it went?" Rachael whispered. "I was at the house with Uncle, and I did everything right. I got all the stuff for the whole process, and I even performed the spells right. I did it all. I didn't need anyone's help. Damien rose in the form of smoke, he came before us. And you know what he did?"

She paused and smiled at him. Her teeth glinted under the lit chandelier.

Dave swallowed and shook his head.

"_All he did was talk about you!_" she screamed. "All he said was, 'Where's David?' or 'Where's my son?' Not one time did he speak about me! He didn't even say hello! No hugs, no kisses! No 'How are you, dearest daughter?' He didn't care about me! It was _all about you!_"

Her hands were shaking now. The knife trembled as well; it seemed ready to slip from her hands. Rachael shook her head hurriedly. She licked her lips and kept murmuring to herself. She was repeating something over and over. Levy, who had remained silent, looked frightened and shocked. She looked desperate too. Dave had an inkling she wanted to tell him something, but couldn't.

"I did _everything._ Uncle didn't even compliment me," Rachael whispered, her lips moving quickly. "No one told me any good things. Cyril bossed me around and treated me like a little kid. No one gave a damn about how well I was doing. It was all about you, Dave. They don't look twice at a good Morganian girl, they want Mr. Goody Two-Shoes. Oh, you're the Prime Merlinian! Why don't you deserve the treatment? So let me ask you, Dave. How does it feel to be the Prime, the greatest of them all?"

"Rachael," Dave said. "Please. Let Levy go. She didn't have anything to do with this. This is between me and you. If you're mad, don't direct your anger towards her."

"I asked you something. Now. Answer. It." She brought the knife closer to Levy's throat. Her eyes grew large. They watered.

"Rachael… Please let her go."

"Answer my freaking question!" Rachael screamed. A thin trickle of blood danced down Levy's pure white throat.

Dave felt his heart sink. It didn't matter what he did or said. He could beg, he could cry, he could offer anything in the world. But Rachael wouldn't give in. she wouldn't be satisfied with him. Never. Her eyes were glassy and still, even though her body and voice was out of control. As soon as Dave had entered, he had lost his sister. The rational person inside of her was gone. A sociopath had taken that person's place.

He had no choice but to go along with it. If he didn't, Levy would be the victim.

"Okay," he said quickly. "I'll tell you how it feels. It feels horrible."

"Liar," she said simply. "You truly want me to kill her."

"No, I don't." He took a deep breath. "It feels horrible. It feels like a lot of people depend on me. That if I don't get one spell right or if I don't say the right things, everyone's going down with me. It feels like my family hates me and wants me to change even when I'm content with being a Merlinian. It feels like everyone just loves to barge into my life and change me. It feels terrible because my own sister doesn't like me. She hates me, and I know we used to be good siblings. She hates me because of it, because I think our father pays more attention to me when he shouldn't."

Rachael brought the knife a little bit away from Levy's knife. For the first time, it seemed like there was hesitance on her face.

A little light bulb shone over Dave's head. "I wish he approved of her. Damien, I mean."

He inched closer. Not very close because there was more distance, but just a few inches.

"Does…he love you?" Rachael whispered.

"Our father? I have no idea. Maybe he just likes to torture me."

Rachael paused. She considered this. While she was distracted, Dave quickly whispered, directly at Levy, "Talk to me inside my head," he hissed.

Her eyes grew wider, and she nodded. The sound of clanking chains brought Rachael back to earth.

"What did you say?" she asked softly.

"Um, nothing."

_Dave! Can you hear me?_

_Yes! Okay, I'm going to try to distract her. She's insane, out of her mind. When she's put off and doesn't seem too focused, do something to get her knife away from your throat. And get yourself out._

_Okay._

"I hear a bug," Rachael said abruptly.

"I don't hear anything," Dave said. "Rachael? Do you hate me?"

"I want to. I kind of do, actually."

"I should tell you something," Dave lied. "Something Dad once told me. It was about you."

She gasped. "Tell me!" she screamed.

"Okay, okay! But relax, all right?"

"…Okay, I guess." Her body did relax. The grip on her blade wasn't so tight anymore.

"The thing Dad told me about you when we were little was-" He nodded at Levy. In that moment, she threw her head back. It socked Rachael right in her stomach. Rachael let out a cry of alarm. She dropped her knife. It fell to the floor and clattered loudly. Levy instantly threw herself across the floor, as far away as she could get from Rachael. The chains made a ruckus as she moved. Rachael was momentarily surprised. But then, she hissed and made a wild move for the knife. Dave was there in a second. He moved like a panther and kicked the blade away from her. Rachael growled at him. She swiped at Dave. Dave felt a slight tear. He put his hand to his cheek. When he removed it, he saw drops of red on his palm. Dave heard the clash chains. He looked up quickly and saw Rachael grab Levy.

"_Rachael!"_ Dave ran towards them, but Rachael held up a hand. She smiled at Dave.

"We are going to settle this, little brother," she said. "Like you said, this is between you and me."

"Okay, okay, that's fine." It was fine. As long as Levy didn't get hurt.

"We're going to the final floor of the temple," Rachael told him. "No one will be able to reach it in time without the aid of magical transportation."

Dave was suddenly grateful Balthazar and the others would come. He had already told Modesty where he was going. She would remind them and they'd be able to get to the temple in time.

As if reading his mind, Rachael said, "And to make sure none of your stupid friends interfere…" She snapped her fingers and released a sharp sigh.

"A nice little spell to ensure they'll wander the same floor over and over again," Rachael said, smiling at him. "I'm sure Uncle used to same trick on them. They won't be able to get out, of course."

Dave knew, and he felt his hopes go down the toilet. "Let's go," he said darkly.

"Yes. Get over here, but don't try to get blondie here." She pointed to Levy.

"I won't," Dave promised. He moved to her side. Rachael rested a hand on his shoulder.

He felt like he was trapped in a tornado. When it was over, he stumbled to his side. Dave couldn't help but allow the sensation of wooziness take over. It was hard to resist. He wasn't used to magical transportation. Balthazar hadn't taught it to him yet, but he knew what is was used for.

Dave dusted off his jeans. He watched Rachael. His crazy sister dragged Levy to the corner of the room. Marble columns were holding up the ceiling. Rachael was able to wrap the chains around the column, securing Levy to it. She checked to make sure she did a good job, then snapped her fingers again. This time, nothing happened. Before, Dave could feel the magic being hitched in the air.

"To keep her mouth shut," Rachael explained. She moved to the middle of the room. "Okay, little brother. Let's begin this, shall we?"

Dave shut his eyes, but opened them soon enough. He exhaled carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Levy. She was still scared, he knew. The blood had dried on her neck. Dave felt himself clench his hands into fists. A long time ago, it was Becky who was in trouble, captured by Horvath to gain something. But now, it was his childhood friend Levy that needed to be rescued. And if Dave had to battle his demented sister in order to save her, he would.

He remembered what she said to him when he was in his cell-and-room. Levy had made him promise he would get her out of a situation. She knew that either Cyril or Rachael would kill her eventually. She should have fled before, but was too weak to do so. She had always been a delicate bird.

It was time to repay her.

* * *

That chapter almost killed me. I struggled with it, for sure. I didn't know who to place at the temple first: Rachael, Cyril, or Damien. I figured out how things will be resolved, though. I am very sad to report that something terrible with happen, but something good in return. I pity Levy. Poor girl... But that's what you get with mixing with Morganians! I've grown somewhat attached to Rachael. When I was writing her behavior in this chapter, I knew how it fit her. If you paid close attention to her in all the chapters, you can pretty much see that she isn't really involved. She's like the henchgirl in all of this. It would make sense for her to act like this.

-**TracedScar**


	15. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

Dave's fingers were numb as he conjured a plasma bolt. It stayed in his hands, a dark blue ball of energy and light. Rachael watched his face carefully. There was no hint of emotion upon her own expression. Nothing to betray her feelings. How was Dave supposed to fight someone his sister when she didn't seem to have doubt herself?

"Make your move," she finally said.

He hesitated. "I…" He cut himself off. There was no way Rachael would let him back out of this, and he wouldn't allow himself to do so either. This really was the only way. But could he fire a plasma bolt at his own sister? He didn't like her, but there was a big difference between shooting a Morganian and shooting Rachael. She was the little girl who split cookies with him when there was only one left in the box. She was the one who dressed up as Dorothy for Halloween and let him be Toto. Years of memories flashed across his face.

Out of nowhere, something streaked the side of his face. Dave blinked. It only took a second to feel the searing pain on his cheek. The plasma bolt evaporated as his fingers flew up to his cheek to check whatever wound was inflicted. All he could feel was the warmth. It was like fire was biting at him. Dave winced and wondered how bad this looked. Levy's eyes were still large, but they somehow grew bigger when she flashed a glance at his face.

"Make your move, brother!" she screamed childishly, as if she were five.

Dave formed another plasma bolt. To his surprise, she waited. She stood silently like a statue. He didn't trust it.

The plasma bolt was released. It shot out at impossible speed and hit Rachael right in the chest. Dave watched incredulously. He couldn't believe Rachael didn't see that coming; why didn't she run away? She had enough time to dodge it.

Rachael, however, seemed unharmed by his attack. She twirled her fingers and small flames came out of the tips of her nails. A tiny fire spun like a burning tornado. Her hand eventually froze. The fire stayed. It had stopped spinning and was now a solid flame. Dave was briefly reminded of Horvath. He braced himself; to duck or to shield, he didn't know. But Rachael confused him again by dropping her hand and letting it stay at her side while the fire burned. Dave cursed mentally, realizing all he was accomplishing was watching her. He immediately conjured a shield. It rose in front of him. Rachael didn't seem to notice. She began to hum a familiar tune.

Dave's hands felt a little bit more lighter. He knew that song. It was the lullaby Mom had played for him when he was a baby. And she played it to him as he continued to have nightmares through his childish stages. It had been the same one his father had played when he was stuck in the box of sand and trapped inside of Dave's closet. The tune that rung out when he was half-conscious in the room Cyril had kept him in.

He made a large mistake. Rachael immediately threw up her hand. Something orange and red came at him. Dave held his breath and forced his shield to become stronger. It met with her attack and absorbed the flames, refusing to be destroyed. Dave exhaled. That had been a lucky shot.

Rachael still had her burning hand. Dave let his shield stay and used both hands to create twin plasma bolts. He didn't hesitate this time; he threw both at her as if he were shooting baseballs. Rachael dodged both of them easily. Dave cussed again. He should have memorized more spells! Or at least paid attention to Balthazar during training!

_Seffner Wall! _Dave looked up to see Rachael was trying to conjure more fire with her free hand. While she did that, Dave took the time to refresh his memory. He thought about all the nasty things he said, everything he should have told Becky, Becky herself, Balthazar and Veronica, Modessa, who had helped him… And he let go.

His mind as blank as clear air, Dave lifted up his fingers silently and slashed across the air. The walls weakly began to rise from the ground. He felt hope bloom in his chest as the Seffner Wall slowly constructed itself. He kept his mind clear, though. The walls were almost closing up…

But before they were complete, fire snapped at the walls. Rachael now held a long, thin wipe in her hand. It was full of embers, slowly streaking up and down. Dave watched miserably as the Seffner Wall fell. He got ahold of himself quite quickly; enough to construct another wall.

The walls raised themselves off the floor in a willowy way. Dave held his breath and prayed it'd work this time. Rachael was unaware of anything happening. She held the fiery wipe in a curled hand and ran the hand down; it scorched her skin and left brown-red marks over the white. Nausea rose in Dave's throat. He had no time to fret over that because the Seffner Wall was finally done. It had boxed her in perfectly. Dave dabbed at his sweaty forehead. He tentatively put a foot out as if to take a step. But when it touched the ground, Rachael began shrieking and hurling insults at him. Anger and fury danced in his mind, twin rages.

_It's okay, _he thought to himself._ As long as she's in there, I don't have to worry._

Dave assumed an air of private assurance. He wanted his insane sister to know that he wasn't intimidated. There was a part of her that could see reality as it passed by in mere seconds, whereas the other half was stuck in a cold cell of emptiness. Dave didn't want Levy to know, however. She was frightened as if she were in hell, and he didn't need to add to that fear. Levy would start trembling if she saw his confidence; he knew she would've thought he was being too reckless.

He carefully walked over to the prison his sister was in. He was stuck now. The duel wasn't over. Dave could sense it. The feeling was running all over his body and the adrenaline in his veins weren't gone completely. Dave wondered how powerful Rachael was. Damien had trained her himself, and made sure she was educated in the Morganian arts. Of course, Dave never knew a single thing about their private lessons. He didn't even know how capable she was of using magic. Dave swiftly glanced at Levy, who was still chained to the column. Rachael was capable of kidnapping. She was capable of following orders of a man who didn't have one problem with killing Becky. Heck, Rachael didn't mind killing _Dave,_ her blood brother. How much did he know his sister? What wasn't Rachael capable of?

Levy attempted to say something, but the magic sealed her lips. Not a single word escaped. Dave hurried over to her. He could now hear Rachael trying to get out; she was throwing plasma bolts. They made gauzy sounds, like an attack bouncing off a force field. Dave kept looking over his back while he made his way to Levy.

"She won't be in there forever," Dave said to the blonde. She nodded.

Dave's fingers worked to unbind her. It was difficult for him. The only thing he knew how to untie were his shoelaces. The steel and iron was heavy, and didn't want to be separated from Levy's wrists. Dave couldn't even pry them apart.

"These better not be resistant to magic," he mumbled as his fingers conjured a plasma bolt. He carefully lowered them to the chains—

A horrible scream penetrated his eardrums. Dave felt the plasma bolt leap from his grasp and hit the column above Levy's head. They both flinched.

"Sorry," he said, clearly abashed. He quickly turned to see Rachael with her fire whip, throwing it against the Seffner Wall.

"She won't be able to do any damage," Dave assured Levy. By the dreaded look on her face, he knew she was worried.

Dave found it surprisingly easy to make another plasma bolt while Rachael continued to fire her own bolts or lash her whip against the prison. He found it simple to erase all his thoughts and let his mind relax. Dave melted the chains on her wrists slowly, sort of smug he could do so. Dave couldn't wait till Balthazar…

He had forgotten about them. Dave felt a little guilty, but decided he could accept any punishment as soon as this was all over. Maybe Balthazar would be pleased, if not astonished, when he discovered his apprentice had beaten Rachael. Dave paused as Levy's chains were being destroyed; he had this strange feeling in his stomach. Like he wished for something. Dave bit down on his lip. He really wanted his uncle to be here. Cyril should have been here. He could have been finished off as well. It would be easy to kill them at the same time rather than do it at different intervals. Dave gulped, banishing the thoughts from his head. They were too dark for mundane thoughts. He really needed to go back to therapy. He mentally snorted. Like he would go back to that embarrassing place.

Her melted chains hit the floor with a large, metallic thud. He stood up, wiping at his pants. Dave happily held out his hand. Levy just stayed. Her bottom lip began to tremble. Her white hands flew to her throat. The blood there had dried a long time ago, and the tiny wound was beginning to close up. Dave didn't think that comforted the blonde girl before him, though.

"Hey," he said softly, "it's okay."

She made a sort of sobbing noise. Dave dropped to his knees and gently rubbed her shoulder.

"Were you scared?" he asked. What a stupid question, Dave realized a beat too late. But Levy didn't notice. A few tears trickled out of her eyes.

"It's gonna be all right, Levy. Trust me," he promised. Dave wrapped his arms around her and sung a melodic tune in her ear. It was the lullaby Damien had played for him long ago. He was shocked when his lips began to take to this song. Dave wondered if he still liked the lullaby, even if he hated his father. He gave up and continued to comfort the girl.

"I didn't help," she sobbed. "I'm so stupid, Dave. I should have left. I made so much trouble for you."

"Yeah, you did. But they were the true causes of it," Dave admitted. He was stunned to hear her; maybe the spell wore off? "It's all right. I don't care what you did. I just want you to be safe."

Levy opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"How incredibly _disgusting_," a voice said, a sneer evident. "You would think a boy from a respecting Morganian family would be more dignified, but _no._ He's on the floor, cuddling with a girl."

He knew this voice. He could tell who this was miles away.

"Cyril," Dave murmured.

They both got up and whirled around to face the pale man. He wasn't smiling or even wearing the cold sneer Dave thought he'd be. Instead, his face was arranged into a hard mask, emotionless and empty. His features were too straight and too pointed, Dave thought. Like Rachael was during our short fight.

The heirloom was tucked under his arm.

"I will be the first to congratulate you, David," said the man. "I didn't expect you to get your sister like that. I thought Rachael would overpower you, but…"

"Cyril," Levy whispered. He could barely hear her. "He's got your heirloom."

"The family heirloom; it's not mine," Dave said. He wasn't paying a lot of attention to her. He was staring at Cyril.

"You're right. It doesn't deserve to be," Cyril snapped suddenly. "But you're a part of the clock's power, since it's for the Stutler sorcerers."

"What power?" Dave asked numbly. Up to this point, he had been feeling giddy and satisfied. Now he was completely frozen.

"The heirloom was something we all wanted. Sometimes, Morganians will travel in large covens, so to speak, or tight, small ones. A clan, if you will. These Morganians fight for dominance over certain regions, as some spots have major power sources," Cyril said matter-of-factly. He seemed unnerving. "Our sorcerers have wanted sources of power for quite some time. So a bunch of Stutlers gathered to one spot to create this clock. With the blood of four Stutlers who carry magic, the clock can be turned on and used to grab control over an area. However, we can't actually do anything to the civilians, if there are any. The clock gives power to those who have it, but protect the humans. I don't understand it, really. They're useless."

Four Stutlers. Exactly four. Rachael, Cyril…

"You said four," Levy whispered, as if reading his thoughts. "But there are only two. What about—"

"Damien," he cut her off. "Damien is alive and out of the box. He hasn't given his sample of blood, but will do so in time."

"Still not enough!" Rachael screamed from the inside of her own cage. "Still not enough for us!"

Cyril walked over to her and kicked the invisible wall. He snorted. "Seffner Wall? You picked that up from me, I see. I didn't think you would be able to make one."

"I got rid of Morgana," Dave said quietly, his voice as soft and light as feathers. "I beat my sister and constructed the Wall by myself. What don't you expect me to do, Uncle?"

"Magic's getting to your head," Cyril retorted, avoiding the question. "After I take your blood sample, I suppose I'll have to keep you somewhere remote and distant so the people will never lay eyes on you again." He paused. "Perhaps I could lock you inside a tower; I hear those are difficult to get out of."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dave said, pronouncing every word with steel. "And no way in hell am I letting you take my blood."

"_Disrespectful_," Cyril said with large eyes. "_Very_ disrespectful."

"I'm sorry," Dave said with genuine honesty. "No way in hell am I letting you take my blood, _Uncle._ That any better?"

"Miserable brat," Cyril sighed. Something dark and eerie grew in his palm, like pure darkness swallowing someone whole. It only stayed in his hand, though. Cyril smashed his hand into the invisible Seffner Wall. Dave flinched as he heard the barrier shatter. Rachael stumbled out. Dave chocked as soon as he saw her. He had heard the attacks to break herself out, but he actually didn't think she would be physically hurt. Bile rose in his throat. Multiple scorch marks, bluish-purple bruises, and faint scars were evident on her bare skin. Her coat sleeves had been burned off and some of her pant leg had been destroyed. The evidence of her magic backfiring was all over her naked parts. He felt the urge to throw up, but held back.

"Uncle!" she shrieked. She jabbed a finger at Dave's spot. "Him! Kill him!_ Kill him!_"

"Give me your blood first," Cyril ordered. "We need the clock to function."

Rachael threw off her tattered coat. He searched through a pocket and handed her a small knife. It was not large in size, but it was incredibly sharp. The teeth of the knife glistened under the brilliant lights of the chandelier.

Rachael slashed her palm. Dave frowned deeply; he didn't get it. Why would she do something like that? It had to hurt. Blood seeped through the cut. Rachael looked as if she was oblivious to the pouring amount of liquid. Did Dave imagine Cyril's tongue flicking out of the corner of his mouth? He didn't think so. Rachael dropped the blood into the vial. Cyril then opened the back of the clock. Dave could catch a few glittering lights inside. Was this the magic working the heirloom? He wasn't sure.

Cyril threw the contents on the vial inside. He then turned to face Dave, holding out the vial.

"Your choice: your blood willingly or forced," he said.

Dave didn't waste a minute. "No."

A spasm of anger rippled across his pale face. It twisted his eyes and mouth. He was grimacing in fury like the ugly, distorted face of an ancient Greek monster. Dave winced.

Without any warning, he snapped his fingers and transported them to an unknown place. Dave saw the dark sky and the pinprick of tiny stars. He could hear cars screeching and horns honking. Dave looked down to see a marble-gray floor and the thick stone structure that was a large square surrounded them. He realized they were on the roof of the temple. Dave was dizzy immediately.

"Last chance, nephew. Give me your blood. I only need a little—won't even hurt."

Dave did not believe him. He wouldn't have anyways.

"I said no."

"So be it then," he said quietly. He suddenly grabbed hold of Rachael's burnt arm. It tightened on one of the bruised spots, and she cried out in pain. Cyril dragged her to the side of the roof, and within a blink of an eye, he pushed her off the ledge. There was no scream. No sickening thud to indicate she'd hit the pavement below. Dave didn't even think she was dead.

Balthazar jumped, he thought. He had survived. Maybe Rachael did too.

But deep inside, he truly knew what happened to her. He didn't need any kind of proof to tell him Rachael had made contact with the ground.

"Why did you do_ that?_" Levy asked, horrified. She raised a pale hand and covered her open mouth. It was set in shock.

"She was in the way. I wanted her to be more behaved; but she goes on to embarrass me and doesn't even bother to kill the girl," Cyril said, his voice sinking in volume. Dave noticed dark veins standing out on his frightfully white skin; weird, he had never seen them before.

"Am I in the way, Uncle?" Dave asked, sweetness staining his voice like honey.

"After I get your blood, yes, you will be."

"That's too bad," Dave said. He gave a sideways glance at Levy. "Will you tell Becky something for me?"

"What?" she asked warily, almost reluctantly. He ignored the unwillingness in her voice.

"If I don't get through this, like my fat head thought I would, will you tell them all I'm sorry? And tell Becky I love her?"

"Sappy, David," Cyril interjected. "But don't worry about messages; you can write letters to your friends in the cell you'll be in."

"I'll pass it along," Levy promised. She pat his hand once and then returned to her original position.

"Thanks. And sorry about…what happened at that mountain."

She nodded. Then, she was quiet; but only for a minute. Levy's lips parted. "Dave—"

She was thrown backwards by a magical force. Dave stumbled after her. Thankfully, Levy crashed into the short stone wall. It was better than falling. Dave whipped around. He formed a plasma bolt almost instantly, and shot it at his uncle's face.

It continued in a familiar pattern. Dave dodged, attacked, was shot at by Cyril, and he dodged once more.

It was the same pattern he and Rachael had followed.

* * *

What sort of events led up to this? Becky wondered. How could this have happened to Dave? More importantly, how could this have happened to him now?

Balthazar, Veronica, and herself had all hurried to get to the temple. They received a message from Modesty that Dave was planning to go there, and he was probably almost at his destination. They would have used magical transportation to get there, but it took a certain amount of energy. Veronica and Balthazar both needed that energy, so they got there by lesser means. Becky was expecting to see Dave running to the door, and hoped they'd be able to tackle him. However, it was not Dave they saw.

It was a man in plain, black clothes. He was tall and slender. When Becky had gotten a closer range, she realized that he looked oddly familiar to her.

It was his brown eyes that got Becky's attention. They were the same shape as Dave's, and had the same warmth. But the color was all off. It was lighter than Dave's beautiful, dark brown.

"Sir?" Becky asked. She wasn't sure if this was someone connected to Dave or if this man worked here.

"I've been waiting for you," he said. His voice was flat. "And for Balthazar."

She froze. "So you're one of them?" she asked apprehensively. Did he understand her question? That she was wondering if he were a Merlinian?

Balthazar had caught up to her. He wasn't gasping or wheezing like she had been a few minutes ago. Yet, his chest heaved up and down to rapidly, Becky couldn't pinpoint when the rise occurred. Veronica joined them shortly after. She pressed herself between the stranger and Balthazar.

"We need access to this temple. Are you an employee?" she asked in a somewhat demanding tone.

"No," the man answered. "I've been waiting for the two of you. I did not know a third would be joining us."

"Please answer my question," Becky said. "Are you a Morganian? Or, like them, a Merlinian?" She didn't care, really, if he were a Merlinian. She just wanted him out of the way so they could get into the temple. If he were indeed a Morganian, she wanted him finished.

"I'm not going to reply. I apologize, but there is something of greater importance at the moment. Or have you forgotten?"

So he knew! He knew about their goal! "I haven't forgotten anything!" Becky snapped at him. "Move, please. We need to get in immediately."

"Well, so do I. But perhaps this might stop you for a moment."

Veronica took Becky's hand and led her around the stranger. The man didn't bother to restrain them. Balthazar followed their lead. They started to pull on the doors. Then they jabbed to check for any locks or forms of resistance. Becky was tempted to kick them down, if she could, but something icy touched her shoulder. She could feel the coolness even with a thick jacket on.

Becky whipped around to see it was the man. Balthazar continued to work on the door while Veronica shoved his hand off her shoulder. In the farther distance, Becky could see a blur of moving figures.

"What do you think you're doing?" Veronica inquired.

"They won't open; the doors have been magically sealed shut," he said, avoiding the question. "And if you want to get inside, then you should listen to me."

"Why is that?" Balthazar asked, turning his head halfway. His hands were glowing while they held the handles of the doors.

Modesty, Modessa, and Rue eventually appeared.

"My name is Damien Stutler. My son is in there." His unfathomable eyes skirted up to the top of the temple. "And I believe he might be in a lot of trouble."


	16. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

Becky was paralyzed. "You're his father, then?" she blurted out.

"I think that's obvious. Modessa, how are you?" The man turned his head to look at the woman.

She pushed past him. She didn't spare him a glance, as if he did not exist. She played with the handles of the door for a while, then furiously spoke with Balthazar. Becky fished out the words "plasma bolt" and "break". There were some sizzling noises and then a large bang. The doors were now open, but the handle on one was cracked. The other fell to the floor.

Modessa and Balthazar let everyone pass into the temple. Becky didn't move. It was impossible. How could they enter, and just ignore this stranger? He was Dave's father. Why didn't they try to do something about it? Why was he just standing here?

"Balthazar, Dave's father…"

"We have to worry about David right now, Becky," Veronica interjected. "Like this man said, he might be in a lot of trouble."

"Why aren't you attacking?" Becky asked, perplexed. There was no smirk on the man's face, as expected. It wouldn't have mattered if he did, anyways. She had no strength to hit him. Adrenaline ran through her veins, but only to find Dave, to help him. It was odd. She had wanted to hate this man. She almost did. But here he was, standing silently and coldly. Only his eyes were warm.

"You must be his girlfriend," he mused. He stared at Becky. "Interesting."

"Why aren't you trying to stop us?" she threw at him. Rue pulled on her arm. She was trying to get Becky away from him, but she refused to move.

"I came for him," he replied.

Weird she hadn't thought of him as Dave's father. She kept thinking him a stranger.

He glided through the doors with a graceful, smooth movement. Becky now began to walk. Rue kept a safe distance so no one would get near her.

They were on the first floor. Becky ignored how beautiful and bright everything looked. Her eyes only absorbed the detail of the empty holder sticking out of the wall. It was very brown, like it had been halfway burnt. Balthazar was shaking his head, obviously upset.

"It's gone," Modesty said. Her voice was bleak. "I don't know if Dave has taken it, or maybe it was Cyril."

Damien strolled across the room and lifted his arm above his head. Becky realized now that he was much taller than normal. His pale fingers brushed against the holder's edge. "It was Cyril," he said. "He came here and planned to take it. We've talked little about the clock, but I know what he came here first."

"Could we please use a portal or something? To get to wherever Dave is?" Becky asked Balthazar and Veronica desperately.

Balthazar nodded jerkily. "We'll do that. Step back—"

A noise like air being sucked occurred. Becky jumped. She stared at the middle of the room, where a swirling portal was. Becky could see strange shapes and colors. There were even some different shades of color she had never seen before. Her head grew dizzy just by looking at it.

Damien gestured to the portal. "Are you coming or would you like to stay?" He turned and entered it. With a flick of fingers, the outline of the portal shook and folded in on itself. Without thinking, she threw herself at the closing portal.

She was falling, falling, falling. For a moment, Becky almost believed he had led her into entering a trap. But she did trust him, maybe a little; his eyes were the reason, really. Soft and brown like liquid puddles of chocolate. Or maybe they were tricks themselves?

Becky dropped to the floor. It was concrete and hard underneath her knees. She heard blasts and harsh noises that hurt her ears to the point that they might bleed. Becky covered them as she got up. Her eyes surveyed the battle playing out before her. She could see the two fighters easily, although they're attacks were too fast for her human eyes.

Her heart clenched when she caught sight of Dave. It beat so loud, she thought it would leap right out of her flesh. And then she caught sight of his uncle. Only three emotions played out on his pale, tight face: anger, annoyance, and frustration. Becky put one foot ahead of herself, but felt the familiar hand on her shoulder.

"No," he said. "What makes you think he won't hit you with something?"

"Couldn't you stop him?" Becky pleaded. It was only to see if he truly would do something to stop his brother—if Dave were in danger. But she would not rely on him. She tried to tear away from his hard grip. Her panic only increased when she saw Cyril's hand wrap around Dave's arm, pulling him in. His other hand glowed with light red.

"Cyril!" Damien called.

Cyril's head lifted slightly. Dave craned his neck to catch the direction of the voice. Becky could see that Dave was surprised; it was written all over his face. He made funny looks when he was stunned. This was another one of those funny looks.

"I thought we agreed you wouldn't come," Cyril said, frowning. He didn't look as furious as he did just moments ago. Just displeased. Dave attempted to free himself, but to no avail.

"We never did. I told you I would consider staying," Damien answered simply. Becky felt a stab of irritation. His tone was so casual, as if he were telling Cyril he was going to the library. His son had been locked in combat before and was now being restrained by his uncle. Even if Damien didn't approve of many things in Dave's life, he should've had a least a shred of fatherly worry.

He was now in front of Cyril. Becky noted that while they were the same height, and had the same looks (despite their eye colors), the two men were complete opposites. She couldn't pinpoint the difference exactly, but knew there had to be one. When Cyril had been in Dave's apartment, she had felt like an alien among a haughty man. Damien's presence had such a strange effect on her; it wasn't good, yet it wasn't bad.

And their eyes. Damien's eyes were just as warm as Dave's. That had to be saying something.

Damien slowly put his hand on Cyril's and pushed it off Dave's arm. Cyril's eyebrows turned downward and he began to form unintelligible words with his lips.

"What are you doing?" he demanded from his brother. "The clock—"

"Give it to me," Damien ordered. "Now."

"Hold on," Cyril interrupted. "I may have let you out, but that doesn't mean I'm your follower. You aren't my boss."

"I'm five seconds older; I think I have some sort of control," Damien said. Becky didn't know if he was teasing or not. His tone was still leveled. "Remove yourself from here, Cyril."

He sneered. "Where to, your Highness?"

"Anywhere. As long as it isn't here," Damien replied. He gently tugged at Dave's hand, but his soon recoiled. He glared and took a firm step back.

"Dave," Becky said, relived. She skipped over to him while Damien and Cyril confronted one another. She wrapped her arms around him, taking in the scent of sweat and his natural perfume. He didn't react, but after a few minutes, he slowly hugged her back. He whispered something to her. She didn't hear what he said. To be honest, Becky didn't care. She was just happy being here, holding him, inhaling the sweet smells she hadn't been able to enjoy in the past few days.

"Did I scare you?" Dave asked. His voice was blank.

Becky squeezed him harder. _He's watching his dad, _she thought. _That's why he isn't acting like he did at the university._

"I didn't feel scared. I was numb. It was hard to think about you…when I saw your father," she told him truthfully.

"I shouldn't have come. Something horrible happened. Something—" He broke off abruptly. Dave released himself from her and slowly withdrew. He finally stopped. Becky took in his entire expression. Shock and sudden realization had set in. What was wrong with him? Did it have to do with the fight he had with his uncle?

"Dave, tell me what's wrong," Becky said, her voice rising. In the background, she could hear Cyril and Damien speaking in higher tones. She had a feeling another battle would break out, but she couldn't find any energy to focus on that. All she could think about was Dave.

"It's my fault," he said sadly. The pure notes of misery were obvious.

"We can sort everything out later, okay? Balthazar and the others, I believe they're coming right…" Her body went cold. They should have arrived a long time ago.

She whipped around. "What did you do?" she shouted. The two men turned, a little surprised at the outrage in her voice. "What did you do to them?" she repeated. The question was aimed at both of them, as she didn't know who had done it.

"What are you going on about, girl?" Cyril asked. He sounded more puzzled than ticked off.

"Balthazar and the rest! Why didn't they come?" she yelled. "Damien! Tell me!"

This was the first time she had called him that. His face made an expression she did not understand.

"They shouldn't interrupt family matters," Damien said coolly.

"I knew it. I knew you had something to do with it. So, you were kind enough to let me come up here, but not to tell me about this?" Becky shot back sarcastically.

"I didn't believe you would come through the portal. When you did, I knew you wouldn't go back. I thought it would be better if you saw your boyfriend, and I could deal with my brother."

She exhaled sharply and turned to Dave. She tried to comfort him, although she had no clue why he was so bothered.

"Levy," Dave murmured. "She's hurt." He took her by the hand and led her to the back of the roof. She gasped at the unconscious blonde.

"She's not bleeding," Becky said. "But she's breathing." She bent down and checked her pulse. It was a tad unsteady, but not dangerous.

Becky looked up at Dave. He was so distant to her now. Becky frowned. What happened here?

She blinked for a second, and then he was gone. Becky's heartbeat tripled and she scrambled to her feet. She saw Damien was speaking with Dave quickly, his lips moving urgently. Cyril was saying something as well. She couldn't hear. Becky gave Levy a sorry look, then hurried over to the group.

But then the eruption came. Dave pried the clock from his uncle's arm, screaming at him. Cyril struggled to keep his precious heirloom, but failed to hold on. The clock slipped out of his grip and was now in Dave's arms. He stopped shouting by this point, and was making his way to the other side of the roof. Cyril wasn't an idiot. As soon as he had been stolen of his heirloom, he ran after Dave. Becky started to yell frantically now, at Dave's father and at Dave himself. The scene blurred before her eyes. She didn't see Damien's reaction or the plasma bolts on Cyril's hands fly, but she did in fact see Dave throw the clock to the ground and step on it repeatedly. He stamped on it furiously, his foot crashing into the delicate, fragile glass plate that protected the black hands and numbers inside. She could see thin veins stand out on his temple as he bent down awkwardly, then smashed the clock with bare hands. Red fluid began to leak out. She was bewildered beyond belief.

Sparks of red, blue, and green blazed. Dave, Cyril, and Damien were lost in the fiery chaos. A ring of fire formed around the wild tendrils of multicolored flames. Becky threw herself at the dangerous display, trying hurriedly to work her way to the conflagrations. But as soon as she could get close enough to see the clothing of either Dave or Damien, the energy leaped out and licked her bare skin. She would scream in pain, then back away, holding her damaged area. And then Becky would want to get in there again. The smoke entered her lungs, slowly consuming her health.

She almost didn't notice the roof door open. Veronica and Modesty got hold of her, shouting, telling her to get away. She didn't listen. She _had_ to pull Dave out of the inferno.

"_Dave!"_ she screamed.

Becky felt herself being lifted up. Her lids were heavy and she couldn't find a way to breathe.

She struggled to keep herself awake. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Rue and Modessa picking Levy up. Balthazar was nowhere in sight.

Her eyes fell like opera curtains.

* * *

It was a tad difficult writing this. I'm a little sad yet the end is coming, but all things must come to an end eventually. Or something like that.

It was some time ago that I had an odd vision. I really think I want to publish another Sorcerer's Apprentice fic after I'm finished with the two I'm already writing. It's a strange urge consuming me, but it's another factor that motivates me to update sooner so I can complete this fic.

This is the second-to-last chapter. I really hope everyone who faved this story/anyone who ever reviewed this story will write a review for the last chapter. It would mean a lot to me.

**-TracedScars **


	17. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

Dave blinked at the room he was in. It was his old bedroom in his old house. The place where he spent a majority of his childhood; the other percentage went straight to therapy. Dave got up from his kid bed. It was way too short in his opinion. Only know did he realize how much he had grown up. It was a tad upsetting to be in this room. He missed being a child, and yet hated it at the same time. If he were younger, he could see his mother one more time. But this was the same house in which Damien used to dwell. You didn't exactly want to remember a place where your mom was almost killed.

Dave touched shelves full of his books. A lot of them sat timelessly, their covers torn or their seams bursting. There were some that still held his attention today—Hatchet and some of Harry Potter, for example. Dave fingered the globe on his desk. He checked out his used gel pens, which had been sucked dry of ink. Dave was a murderer when it came to writing supplies. He silently fingered the decayed posters on his bedroom walls. Dave even found some of his elementary school homework in the drawers, yellowed and wrinkled.

"Like your room?" a familiar voice asked.

Dave didn't jump or have his eyes widen. He knew who this was. He quietly turned around to face Gwen Stutler. She was wearing a light green t-shirt and a casual brown skirt. An apron with the words _Kiss the Cook_ hung on her shoulders and around her waist. She still had the same short, brown, curly hair that seemed to make her brown eyes darker. His mother looked ten years younger.

"Mom." It was not a question.

"Hi, Dave," she greeted. "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you for years."

"I have college. And a girlfriend," Dave deadpanned. His voice was faint and almost resembled an echo.

"That's good news. Is she cute?" His mother wiggled her eyebrows.

"Ew, Mom, don't make that face." Dave turned, going back to his posters. "Yeah, she's pretty cute."

"Good to hear, Dave. Good to hear. Are you going to stay for dinner?"

"I can't," Dave mumbled. "Where's Damien?"

"Who?" For the first time since he'd been here, she sounded perplexed.

"…Dad." He had to force the words through his teeth.

Soft hands wrapped around his waist. A head rested on his shoulder. Dave didn't realize he was taller than his mother.

"I missed you, Dave," his mother said. It sounded like tears were filling up those brown eyes of hers.

Unable to help himself, Dave said in the same chocked voice, "I did too."

They let the silence hang in the air around them. Dave stared at one poster. He willed the drops in his eyes to stop gathering, threatened them so they wouldn't fall. He was probably a bad negotiator as he was a liar. The colors and the thick, sharp lines blurred, fusing themselves together. He hung his head and glared at the floor as the liquid ran down his face like cowards fleeing.

"Oh, honey," his mother murmured. "I don't want you to cry. Be a big boy."

"You're dead, Mom," Dave replied flatly. "How can I not cry?"

He could hear the soft smile in her voice. "But I'm here with you. Right now."

"Not for long. This is probably—forget probably—a dream or something my messed up mind created. As soon as I really open my eyes, you'll be gone."

"Davey, I'm with you at _this_ moment," his mother said. "Isn't that important?"

"But it's not forever."

There was no long, heavy silence this time. His mother released him and walked around to wipe the tears away. She planted a kiss on his neck.

"You've grown up," she said, teasing. "You'd be a strong wooden post, if you weren't such a skinny thing."

"I'm sorry I can't gain calories properly," Dave told her, making jokes as well.

"It's fine; you're father had the same problem too, as a kid."

"Well," Dave said slowly, drawing out the word purposefully, "I heard living in the 1800s doesn't give you a lot of food options."

She chuckled. "You make the best jokes, Dave. Why didn't you use them?"

"I use jokes sometimes."

"I didn't mean it that way, Dave," his mother said, suddenly turning a shade sad. "I meant in the past few days. You've seen your family, yet you didn't try to make them laugh."

Fury boiled his blood. "Laugh? They had a ton of laughs, Mom, while they were plotting behind closed doors," Dave said sharply. If his voice was tangible, it could cut through wood cleanly.

"Family is family," she said firmly. "I know they aren't the best of relatives, but we support one another in our own way."

He refused to talk about Cyril or anyone else anymore.

Abruptly, Gwen made a gasping noise. Her brown lashes fluttered like butterflies as her lips moved rapidly. "Oh!" she said shrilly. "Silly me, I let my hours run away from me; Time will be furious with me."

"Who?" Dave asked, confused. He was positive his mom was referring to time as a person.

"Never mind that, Davey," Gwen said hurriedly, acting as if she were late for a bus. "I love you so much. Even when I'm not here with you, I still think about my children. I love you. I love Rachael."

"Rachael, she's dead, isn't she?" Dave breathed, his words running together.

"I don't know, sweetheart. I was watching from day to day, but perhaps she hasn't crossed over yet." She suddenly covered her mouth with a small, white hand.

The walls began to look dimmer, more lighter, like they were mere candles instead of concrete structures. Dave backed away, startled, as he saw the posters and every other object in the room burn into crisp ashes. These ashes were carried away by the wind coming from the open windows. Dave cried out as the bed sunk into the floor. The ground itself looked like the Persian rug that almost swallowed Balthazar.

The first thing he did was reach for his mother. "Mom!" he yelled.

"I have to go," she said quietly, looking down. She didn't seem to notice her feet sinking into the tendrils of carpet.

Dave instantly grabbed her and pulled her into a deep hug. "Don't go," he whispered in her ear.

"I love you, honey," Gwen murmured. "She was kind enough to let me do this. Listen, David, if you ever need my help, I want you to call for me. And I'll come."

Dave shook his head jerkily. She had used his full name. She had to be serious.

"Be nice to your father," Gwen said in that motherly tone she always used. "He's trying his best."

_What?_ Dave thought, bewildered.

"I've got to leave now."

"No, you can't," Dave said, desperation touching his voice and lighting every nerve in his body on fire. Panic rushed in. "You can't go! You just got here!" His childlike instincts kicked in. Dave held her tighter.

"Oh, sweetheart," Gwen said. Unhappiness was evident. "I have to leave. But don't worry. You'll see me again."

A few more seconds passed. His mother made no move to free herself. The colors of the room fused together, leaving behind a horrible gray color. Dave never thought he would miss that room so much. Finally, he gave in, thinking, _All good things come to an end, I guess._

"Bye, Mom," Dave muttered. His arms fell to his sides. He itched to hold her again and make sure she would never go. But he willed his hands to stay where they were.

Gwen turned around. Dave's eyes felt like they were being burnt. A glorious, thin shower of brilliant gold was filling the room. A wooden door was in front of Gwen, concealing some of the wonderful light. But it still got away. Dave had to squint just to see his mother.

Her head turned. Some stray brown curls had managed to escape from their hair band. "There are no such things as endings, David," she said, a smile playing upon her lips. "Just new beginnings." She winked at him, then turned once more to walk into the open door.

"Okay," Dave said weakly. The last remaining evidence of his mother's being was her retreating back. And then black shadows swooped down from the blackened ceiling, hiding his view of her ethereal form forever.

* * *

"_Dave! Dave!"_

There was no sunlight. No artificial light. No sparks at all. Dave blinked woodenly, feeling like a toy soldier. Numb and emotionless. He was lying face-first in something hard and cold. His right check stung.

"_He's not here, Balthazar! Do something!"_

Dave had to tell the voice to be quiet. He knew who it belonged to, and loved that person very much, but wished not to hear it anymore. He just wanted to lie in this place forever.

It hurt to get up. His protesting, sore muscles were no match for his somewhat reasonable mind. Dave pushed himself up with a large amount of effort. He could hear structures sliding off of his body and hitting the ground was an angry thud. He rubbed his back with one hand while using his other hand to balance himself. There was a pain somewhere in his back that made him want to fall into unconsciousness. Cuts seared on his arms. Discolored spots decorated his body from head to toe. Dave awkwardly held out his arms and looked down. One sock was completely shredded, literally hanging out like cartoonish paper strips. A lot of his clothes were torn. Dave resisted the urge to make pain-filled noises as he cringed and jerked around, trying to walk normally.

It was the post-apocalypse here. Rubble, broken concrete, thick beams of steel and iron, a thousand gold and silver pebbles, bricks, stone littered the entire area around him. Lingering traces of thick smoke hung in the air, although he could breathe just fine. He did not look at the sky or the clouds. He did not see any buildings or streets. Strangers did not scream. Everything was almost silent.

Dave's mind had gone blank by now. He was shocked and slapped by the destruction. The destruction he had caused.

He had watched Damien and Cyril struggle in the ring of fire that had blazed the entire stone roof. Dave tried to intervene a couple of times, but was thrown dangerously close to the flames. That would explain his burnt sleeves and some blackened skin.

Dave didn't remember what happened, but he knew that he performed the Parasite Spell. It brought his mind back to reality with a jolt. That was right. He had torn out the Parasite Spell from the Incantus, and then went to the temple. When in that ring of fire, he had nearly forgotten about it. Dave had gave the page a few quick looks, threw it to the dancing flames, and ran to Cyril. He had slapped his uncle with such force that the latter was thrown to the ground. He had gotten down on one knee and used the spell. He could recall how it felt—energy, strong amounts of energy, racing through his veins and rushing at the victim at full speed while receiving purer power in return. It was the strangest, most exhilarating rush, and it was over in seconds. After Cyril, he ran towards Damien. He used the Seffner Wall on him. The extra magic obtained constructed the force within minutes, trapping the man successfully. Dave had felt smug when he took a step back and looked on as fire devoured the walls first, then his father.

Dave had blacked out.

"Dave!" Becky screamed. She was darting to him now. Dave held up a hand, although she couldn't have saw it from the distance she was at. Still. He just wanted her to go away. Get to somewhere safe. Some place where she didn't know her boyfriend, the oh so good Prime Merlinian, had killed two people.

Balthazar and Veronica did not heed his warning. They were at his side in a few short seconds.

"He's not dead," Veronica said blankly.

"_Who?_" Dave demanded.

"Your father. He's still here. I can sense it," Balthazar said, his eyes moving across the damaged area. "Ah! Right there."

Dave turned around. His body yelled in pain. He ignored it. He could see a hand, covered in ripped black cloth, rising out of the debris. Dave's heart stopped. He knew.

"_Daddy!"_ he screamed. The anguish in his voice was echoed throughout the empty sky.

It had been so long since he'd called Damien "Daddy".

Dave hurled himself at the spot. He reached it in no time. Dave tripped and fell, but he was glad for this. It spared him the time of getting down on his knees. He immediately began to throw aside chunks of stone and concrete. Fluid ran free and dripped to the ground. Dave realized too late his fingers were cut by the glass. It didn't matter. Adrenaline and shock had numbed him to a point; there was nothing but emotion.

Dave's knees would have stung had he been able to feel them. He was like a rodent, scampering among trash to find something as precious as food. Dave threw aside a final piece of glazed stone. The blood leaked from his cuts and onto this stone. Dave tugged at the hand that did not move anymore. He said something incoherently. The hand finally twitched. Dave fell back as a tall shadow literally rose from the ashes. His father didn't look like he had any serious damage. There were minor cuts on his face.

Dave never thought he would feel so happy to see this face. He threw himself at the man and clung to him like he used to do when he was a toddler.

"I saw what the fire did," Dave said in a hoarse voice. "Why aren't you… Why are you here?"

A low chuckle. "The Seffner Wall had me completely trapped; only powerful magic will tear it down efficiently. The fire consumed me in my prison, but it was only when I crashed through the first floor of the temple did the magic in the fire break my safe box. I'm afraid to say Cyril was never good at casting pyrokinetic spells."

Dave nodded bleakly. He didn't hear half of what he had said. His father's black sleeves were even more darkened by crisp burns. Dave could smell smoke and pine on it.

"Dave!" Becky shouted. She was still running, but managed to catch up to him. Now she stood a few inches behind the two, hesitant.

"…Dave?"

"I'm… You okay, Becky? You aren't hurt?" He wanted to be urgent and care for her health, but right now, he couldn't. He was too numb, too cold. It was impossible to feel anything but surprise.

"Someone carried me out before the ceiling could be destroyed," she explained quietly. "Dave, you're bleeding all over your clothes… We need to get you to a doctor."

"And what will you tell the mundane doctors, fool girl?" his father asked sourly. "Go leave before any other humans come along. I can hear cars in the distance."

"I can't leave," Becky said in the same hostile yet sullen voice. It sounded like she wanted to say more, but didn't.

"You can't leave him with _me_, you mean to say," Damien corrected coldly. "I'm leaving, girl. Don't follow."

"It's Becky," she answered in an equally icy tone. "And _we're_ leaving, you mean to say."

She called for Balthazar. Dave couldn't hear cars or sirens, like his father could. His ears blocked out a lot of sounds, but received ones that were closest to him. He could sense Damien touching his shoulder and his cheek, but didn't feel the touches on his skin.

Dave heard Balthazar. "Dave," he said. "We'll get you to our house. Veronica's a skilled healer."

Dave was beginning to lose consciousness. Whether that was from magic or health means, he had no idea.

"Dave! Balthazar, he's closing his eyes! Is—"

His eyes flew open. He had picked up the words "kill" and "father" in the same sentence.

"You're going to kill him?" Dave said slowly. It was meant as a question, but it came out like an unmoved statement. Suddenly, he added in a bigger voice, "You can't kill him."

"Dave, no one… We…"

He didn't know who spoke and did not care. "Stay away from us!" he shouted. His mother, she was gone, and now they were going to take away his only living parent.

And then he went blank.

* * *

He awoke. Dave was, once again, tucked away in bed. Not his bed, of course. So far, after a long, tiresome, emotionally-draining experience, he had been knocked out exactly two times, and had been put in an unfamiliar bed—only the angels knew what had occurred in those beds prior to his coming—two times.

Dave honestly didn't care. He just knew he had wound up in a bed again. He listened to soft waves crashing onto rocks. It wasn't a particularly large noise. it was actually pretty soothing, like his father's lullaby. In the past few days, however, they had been anything but soothing.

Dave's head lay on the pillow. He was on his side. He stared at a large glass window. The white curtains were drawn back, tied by bronze tassels, to reveal a dark sky with gray clouds. The moon was an enormous silver orb, giving off enough sparks of light to view the scene. Dave could see the rough outline of a sheer cliff face and the black waters before it.

He felt a sudden spasm in his left leg. Dave threw off the thick covers immediately. He was a little surprised to see nightwear on, even though he shouldn't have. Dave ignored the clothes and checked the bandages wrapped around his leg. It ended at his knee. Dave's fingers were suddenly all over his face. He realized there were some bandages there too.

Dave prepared to stumble out of bed, but was interrupted.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Damien said quietly.

The lights were thrown on. Dave blinked against the harsh lights. He tried to remain dignified and serious while looking at the man sitting in a chair in the corner.

"Where's Becky? Balthazar?"

"I suppose I rank below the human girl."

"Be serious. I want to know."

"What do you want to know? Your girlfriend and the others are somewhere else. I have no idea of their location, but I know they had no way of following us."

"What! I was supposed to go with them," Dave said indignantly. "How come I'm here? I don't even want to see your face."

"That's not what you were saying before," was his father's inaudible response.

Dave realized he had been a little off at the scene of the temple. His face turned red when he recalled the words he'd thrown at Becky and the others. They weren't so bad, but it was out of his character to say such things, to protect his father.

And he called Damien "Daddy". That was the ultimate embarrassment.

"I think you should lie down," his father suggested, "so I can tell you everything."

Dave did not protest. His head sunk into the pillows. He waited for Damien to go on.

"You were very upset at the destroyed temple," his father continued. "I knew you had to come with me. Human doctors could patch you up, but they weren't right for you; you needed to be looked at by someone with your blood. Letting you go off with people I weren't familiar with—"

"Oh, please," Dave said, the heat flooding his face. He wasn't humiliated, but angry now. "I wasn't going off anywhere. I could barely stand. And besides, they're good people; trustworthy." He laid a lot of emphasis on that word, just so it would get on Damien's nerves.

Ignoring Dave, he said, "I wasn't going to let you go, and I wanted to look at your injuries myself. Magical transportation was used; it's quite useful, when you know how to control the speed and place. This is the house I brought you to. I tended to your cuts and bruises, then put you here. Is this your second time waking up in an unfamiliar place?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. What happened to Becky, Balthazar, and Veronica? What about Modessa, Rue?"

"I told you I had no clue. But if I'm guessing, I think they went off to one of their homes to sort things out and wonder if it was a good idea not to stop me."

"You make it sound like you're a villain," Dave said wearily.

"You seem to think so," Damien retorted quietly.

"Of course I would," Dave snapped. "There are lots of things you did to make me think that."

"Don't you find that even a little ironic?" Damien inquired. "You dub me a villain, yet you had the…the audacity to perform that spell on your uncle."

"What other options did I have?" Dave asked, not really wishing for a reply. "If he lived, he would keep coming back. He doesn't like Becky. I was afraid he'd do something to hurt her."

"He wouldn't," Damien said. "I would make sure he wouldn't."

"You're a liar," Dave said simply. "You tried to kill my mother, you let Rachael die, you don't care that I almost died—"

"_You think I tried to kill Gwen?"_

Dave shrunk. He waited a few seconds to gather up enough courage to say something back. In a more leveled voice, he said, "Yes, you did try. I saw it in the kitchen. When I was little, don't you remember?"

Damien's mouth opened sharply, but then it closed shut. So did he eyes. He massaged his temples, making an understanding noise. He seemed to be processing some kind of information.

"Ah," he finally murmured. "You think it was me in the kitchen that night."

"I think? I know. I remember seeing it all."

"No, you don't know. You did see everything, but you never knew who it was."

"What do you mean?" Dave demanded.

"It was another man disguised as me," Damien said slowly, his eyes wandering off in the other direction. "A Morganian with no living family. I should begin at the start. I lived in the 1800s, as you know. I met a young girl there. Her name was Clarice Addams. She was the daughter of a Merlinian couple who had been helpful to the community. I used my middle name when speaking with her. I didn't want her to know I was a Morganian. Thankfully, no one at the time was aware of my last name. So I was safe. Or so I thought.

"I came in contact with a Morganian. It was a simple run-in. He recognized me right away, but wasn't interested in business or anything like that. Well, at the time, he wasn't. Cyril knew him, and vice versa. My brother had been stupid enough to tell him I was planning to marry Clarice. I had already purchased the ring. The Morganian said if I were to marry her, I needed to get to her parents, and leave my old life behind. I was willing to become a plain farmer who used his magic to grow herbs, like I had told Clarice. The Morganian struck up a deal: he would make sure my background and home fit the lie and in exchange, I would help him in the future, if he ever got in trouble.

"I knew immediately something was wrong. He was a suspicious fellow. I refused his offer. I left to think about marriage plans. The next day, I went to Clarice's house. She was very anger. _Very, very_ angry. She threw things at me and accused me of killing her parents. I had never been so confused in my life. For a moment, her rage convinced me I truly had murdered them. I tried to apologize, tried to make her believe it couldn't have been me. I wasn't sure of myself. She then told me she knew my real name, and how I'd lied to her. With that, Clarice Addams walked out of my life.

"It was only later that I found out it was the Morganian man I'd talked to who had changed himself into me. He had went over to Clarice's parents' house and murdered them, then stole their precious belongings. It made me sick that I had even spoke to him. I was pathetic. But not vengeful. I didn't bother to sought out the Morganian.

"I went to my brother. I said I wanted a new, better life. To really leave behind my past. He was reluctant to agree. Cyril was used to good times and chases. He was used to the magical world, and didn't understand why I would want to leave magic behind. I said I didn't. I just wanted something to live for. He was my only living sibling and knew we needed each other. He agreed to help me.

"Over the years, I forgot about magic bit by bit. I still used it, of course, but only when I needed it. If I was going to be a regular male, I was to learn how to get on without magic. Cyril met a woman named Alexandria. They married. Jealousy consumed me and overtook my days. How could he fall in love while I could not? And I wasn't even hurting anyone, when he was killing young girls for blood.

"Finally, I settled in a nice house in New York City. I had a new job as a lawyer. I met Gwen at law school. She wanted to become a lawyer as well, but wasn't so good at her studies. I was enamored with her instantly. It is a feeling I cannot explain. It would took other words. I proposed to Gwen and she easily quit in order to marry me. I didn't believe a woman would give up her dreams for marriage. She was so young…

"But Gwen wanted to marry. She was energetic and beautiful, but always yearned for the role of a good mother. She wanted to raise children, mainly. It was her dream. That's why she used to work at daycares. Anyways, we wed.

"Rachael came. Then, you. We had a very good marriage, in my opinion. But then the Morganian man came along. He had been in town, trying to con a young magical couple. He saw me at the train station. I had seen him too, but didn't know if it was truly him. I reminded myself I wasn't going to return to that life. I had children and a wife to think about; and I wasn't even certain if this was the same person.

"While I was out working late, he snuck into the house by magical means. He disguised himself as me, as he did so long ago. He wanted revenge. I later learned, after the experience, that he had been involved in a battle with the Clarice's cousins. It left him bitter, furious. He knew so much about me. It still disturbs me, how he took so much time to learn about my life and what I planned to do with Rachael.

"He struck Gwen down. I came home and she told me about what occurred. She could tell the fake Damien was not the real Damien.

"So now you know what happened."

Dave didn't know what to say or do. This was too much information to absorb. Dave felt sadness linger in his heart. So it wasn't Damien. And it wasn't fair of him to accuse his father like that. His mother had been attacked by a crazed, vengeful man, and Dave couldn't protect her. No one expected a young kid to be capable enough to defend his mom against a Morganian. But still.

"David?"

"…Yeah?"

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know. Physically or emotionally?" Dave mumbled.

"Both."

"The emotional health would take too long to describe. Physically, I'm all right. It just hurts a little."

"Do you have any questions?" Did Dave imagine the wariness in his father's voice?

"Yes. What was the reason for you being in the box of sand…thingy?"

"Someone from the magical world thought I was still participating in acts of cruelty," Damien answered. "And so they locked me in. Rachael, she's another story. She was like Cyril, doing bad things."

"Rachael! What happened to her!" he demanded.

"She is dead," Damien said quietly. He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry. She died as soon as her head met with the concrete. She didn't feel any pain, I think."

"But she can't be dead! She's a sorceress, she's got training!"

"She wasn't very skilled, David. She knew spells, but not of enough level to be called a professional sorceress."

"Don't you care? Your daughter just died!" Dave shouted. He didn't feel unhappy or sad. He was ashamed to admit he didn't feel anything about her death. Rachael was mentally insane. She almost killed Levy.

"Calm down, David. There was nothing I could do. Yes, I am very upset. It's not obvious, but I do feel that way," Damien told him in a low voice. "But she was out of touch, I believe. Did she not attempt to cut Levy's throat?"

"…What happened to Levy?"

"The girl named Rue Carver took her. She regained consciousness. Modessa gave her some money and directed her to a church in Oxford. Levy is going to stay there for as long as she needs to; it serves magical people who need help."

"But she never said goodbye…" Dave was struck by a slight feeling of betrayal.

"She left a letter. I was going to give it to you after your questions were answered…"

"Give it to me now," Dave said, his mouth turning down in a grimace.

"Not now. Right after," Damien said firmly. "I promise."

Dave glared at him. Minutes passed. He finally decided it was worth arguing over. He would get his letter eventually. For some odd reason, Dave was believing everything his father said.

"Where's…Cyril?" The words came out of his mouth unexpectedly.

"Cyril survived. Well, not survived, but unharmed. You didn't perform the spell correctly. You just blocked some of his arteries. It was a good try, though. I rescued him because I wasn't going to get rid of the my only brother," Damien said crossly. "I washed away all those unpleasant memories. He doesn't remember anything that occurred during his visit in New York. All Cyril knows is that he came to New York to get groceries for his wife. I also rearranged his mind to believe I was never imprisoned, and that Rachael died by accident. He wouldn't care if he knew he caused her death anyways. I also destroyed the clock. He shouldn't bother anyone anymore."

"_Hold on_," Dave interrupted. He held up a bandaged hand. "You mean to tell me that Cyril's been programmed to believe he went all the way to New York from God knows where _just to pick up groceries for his wife?_"

"Alexandria's a picky woman," Damien said.

Dave collapsed deeper into the pillows. "Fine, whatever. As long as he's out of my life."

"He is. Anything else?"

"Yeah…" Dave couldn't think of anything else. Then, a question popped into his mind. "Why did you save me? Why didn't you just leave me? I tried to kill you."

"I didn't want to kill anyone. I just wanted to leave my prison and reunite with my family. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Just tell me why you didn't do anything," Dave said, switching questions immediately. "I mean, how could you have not known Cyril wanted that clock?"

"I knew he wanted our heirloom," Damien said. He paused. "I didn't realize he wanted it to control the city. If he did, he would get to do a lot of things while the clock worked its magic on the perimeter. I thought he wanted to help me be with my family. Our family. I wanted to see you children so bad… After so many years…"

"But Rachael said all you did was talk about me." Dave flushed, a little. "And not about her."

"I was saddened by the thought she was still a Morganian. That she hadn't gone to college or fallen in love. She had wasted all her life being a Morganian. I couldn't bear to be in the same room with her; yet I still had affection for her."

"So you love me because I'm a Merlinian?" Dave asked, confused rather than annoyed, as he should be.

"I love you because you're my son, David," Damien said, eyes glittering. "I'm pleased you haven't ruined your own life. You seem very happy, being with these people. Not that I entirely trust them. Or that human girl—it'll take time to get used to her."

"You married a human. I like a human girl. What's the problem?"

"I only believe she'll get hurt if she's too involved with magical business," Damien explained shortly. "It's not pretty, being a Merlinian…or a Morganian. Either way, you're bound to run into bloodshed. But if you're happy…then I suppose I'll have to deal with it."

"So…now what?" Dave's head spun with possibilities. He'd never been so happy in his life, at this point. He would get to be with Becky, have his apprenticeship with Balthazar, be a Merlinian…and no one in his family would ever bother him.

And his father would be with him.

"This house is the one I planned on sharing with Gwen," Damien told Dave. He got up from the chair and walked over to the side of Dave's bed. He seemed to look into his son's eyes. "But she died… We never got to share it. But I get to share it with you. I was thinking Rachael, you, and I would live here after everything was finished. It turns out only you'll get that pleasure." The corners of his mouth turned down grimly.

"Hold on," Dave said. "I have an apartment. With a roommate, who's also my friend. I can't just pick up and move like that… Are we even in New York?"

"Yes, we're in New York. More or less close to NYU. The house is built on a cliff right above low waters. You can still drive your school and your girlfriend's house… It's not that far, David."

Distance didn't matter to Dave. "But why can't I stay in the apartment?"

Something close to pain rippled across Damien's face. "You don't want to stay, do you?"

"No, no! I want to live here…with you… But I just want to make sure why you want me here."

"Because you're my son. And I haven't seen you in so long. Rachael is dead. You're my only child now. I don't want you to be so far away from me…even by a few yards." His voice broke.

Dave squirmed. He immediately said, "All right, I understand. I just wanted to know… So I'm staying here, then?"

"I have to get all your things here, don't I?" asked his father.

"That's right. I'd like to know how I can explain this to everyone else."

"It's possible," Damien said, with a small smile. "They'll be shocked, but I'm sure they understand."

"I have to thank Modessa, Modesty, and Rue too…"

"That'll be done," Damien said. Then he added hesitantly, "David?"

"…Er, yes?"

"…I certainly care for you. I do love you. Don't think of me as a stranger. Could you do that for me?" Damien's eyes plead with him.

"I don't think you're a stranger. You're my father. I just didn't know all this stuff about you," Dave mumbled, feeling his face go red.

"Good. It's too late. We need to talk in the morning," Damien murmured, checking the clock above the bed. "And you need to go to sleep."

"So I can go to Balthazar's tomorrow, right? And Becky's?"

"You never needed my permission too," was his father's answer.

Despite everything that had been said and happened, Dave slept soundly for the first time since the experience.

* * *

Dave clutched the journal in his gloved hands. He released a deep breath. He looked at Damien and said, "Do you think I should do this, Dad?"

It had been a month since the incident with Cyril and Rachael. Balthazar had had a hard time accepting the entire situation, but with Becky's support, Veronica's guidance, Dave's pleading, and his father's firm promises, he eventually came to an agreement with Damien. Dave would train with Balthazar and stick to Merlinian tendencies, but he would live with his biological father and try to live at least a somewhat average life. At least Damien was getting used to Becky. Although he wished he'd stop calling her Rebecca.

Dave had read the letter from Levy. He wasn't upset. To his great surprise, he was relieved. He was glad Levy had gotten out alive and she'd found a place where she would be accepted. Where she wouldn't be abused. Levy had even started to drink animal blood.

"Like the Twilight vampires," she'd told him over a phone conversation. "Except their vampires are prissies."

Modessa, Modesty, and Rue had found them therapists, much to Dave's chagrin. He was actually fine with family counseling, but it was a pain. Modessa and the young girls were specialized in this business. They had found therapists for tons of families with Merlinian or Morganian kids. They knew what they were doing. So Dave trusted their judgment on Annabelle Chancy, the Merlinian woman who'd become a family counselor. Dave thought she was friendly and understanding. His father seemed to accept her. So far, he and Damien had been to a few sessions, where they tackled some less important issues. Dr. Chancy warned them some emotional sessions were coming, but they could relax for now. Dave even begun to dub Damien as "Dad" again. It was hard to say the word after so long, but it was getting easier by the days.

Dr. Chancy had told the two they needed to get over the past to begin a new, healthy relationship. That's why Dave and Damien were at the edge of the cliff, where the deep waters churned.

Dave repeated his question. "Do you think I should do this?"

"You should. Dr. Chancy says we have to get over the past. And you aren't obliged to hold Gwen's journal. You don't need it. You know she was happy in those years."

"But would she have wanted us to throw it into the ocean?" Dave wanted to know.

"I'm not her. But I have a feeling she'd want us to do what we needed to in order to get this relationship," Damien said.

Dave looked at the battered journal. He actually did want to let go. He wished she was here to tell him…

"I'm gonna let it go," Dave said after exhaling sharply.

"Do it," Damien said softly.

The journal was released from Dave's hand. It fell into the waters with a splash. The waves lapped it up happily. Dave thought it wasn't at all sad, but different. Like his mother's journal was receiving a safer home. At the bottom of the ocean, no one could disturb her pages of emotion. And that's how Dave wanted it to be.

They stood for a while until Damien said, "I think I hear the phone. It is probably Rebecca."

Dave stared at the clouds. They began to form a strange shape. Dave gasped and stumbled back. The image winked at him.

"That was a good idea." And then the clouds resumed their normal shape and the only sounds were the ones of seagulls and waves.

Dave turned around and walked towards the house. For a moment there, he thought the clouds had looked like Gwen.

Perhaps she was right about those new beginnings.

* * *

I personally grimaced while typing the ending. I think it was a tad cheesy. Or is that ending-a-fic jitters? I don't know.

I'm so pleased I finally finished this fic! FINALLY.

Thank you, everyone, for your reviews, whether they were unsigned or signed. They all mean a lot to me, and I always smiled whenever I got one. Thanks for following the fic and reading the chapters! Thanks for reviewing, for faving, or adding me to any kind of list on there. I truly appreciate you guys.

You gave me a lot of confidence and advice! I'm grateful for that as well!

So thanks a ton, everyone. Virtual snacks for everyone, wink wink.

-**TracedScars**


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